


I'll Be Your Shelter

by SammysMom63



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Child Abuse, Confinement, Gen, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, beatings, hurtSam, protective!Dean, protectiveDean, shooting practice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammysMom63/pseuds/SammysMom63
Summary: John Winchester doesn't like Sam very much, but Sam will do anything to protect his older brother.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural Fan Fiction. I started writing it a long time ago, but have finally worked up the nerve to post it. It is mostly finished, I'm just working on the end. As Chuck said, endings are hard. I hope a few people read it, if you do, let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, I don't have a beta so all mistakes are mine. I also do not own Supernatural or Sam and Dean Winchester.
> 
> Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

Sam strained up on his toes, trying to ease the pressure in his arms and back. With a small sigh he rested his cheek on his stretched arms and closed his eyes. He could feel the sweat from his forehead slide along his arms. The surrounding jackets seemed to press in on him and he tried to focus on keeping his breathes even. Dean would be home soon. Sam knew his big brother had gone out after school with his friends, but he would be home soon. Then his dad would let him out. Sam blinked as sweat ran into his eyes and he wiped his forehead on his arm. He shifted again, whimpering softly as the ropes encircling his wrists dug in further.

He should have known better than to run into the house after school. He did know better. But Dad had been on a hunting trip and Dean had said he wouldn’t be home for two more days. Sam had thought he was safe. 

But he wasn’t. He had waited for Dean after school, waiting for his big brother to walk over from the middle school so they could walk home together. But when his brother had arrived, he hadn’t been alone. Dean had told him that he was going to go out for ice cream with his friends. When Sam had asked if he could go too, Dean’s friends had given Sam a once over and then proclaimed it was a runt free ice cream adventure. Dean had agreed, but as his friends walked away, he had leaned over and told Sam he would bring him back some ice cream.

After that, Sam had walked home, happy about the prospect of ice cream. He had run through the door, slammed the door and thrown his backpack on the couch. Right on to his father’s lap.

His punishment was to be locked in the closet, his wrists tied to the clothing rod until he could learn some control. 

Sam tried to take a deep breath in the suffocating closet, but his lungs hitched as the coats closed in on him even more.

Without warning, the closet door opened. Sam blinked against the bright light, his eyes accustomed to the dark closet. 

“Your brother is home,” his father said gruffly as he cut through the ropes holding his youngest. When Sam was down, John Winchester put his arm against his chest, pushing him against the door. “You remember what will happen?”

“Yes sir,” Sam said quietly, nodding his head quickly. “Yes sir.”

“Not a word.”

Sam nodded again. John smiled, satisfied. “We will finish your punishment later tonight, after Dean is asleep. You will meet me in the garage. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”  
John shoved the boy into the hall and walked towards the family room where Sam could hear his brother entering the house. Sam turned and ran to the bathroom. He closed the door and with shaky hands he turned on the faucet. Moving fast, he wet his face, the cool water feeling good on his sweaty skin. He rinsed off his wrists, wiping off the small smears of blood from where the rope had cut in. Then he pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down, hiding the raw skin. Taking a breath to compose himself, he opened the door and started to run down the hall. He stopped himself just in time and walked towards the family room.

When he walked into the room, he looked first for his father, who was sitting on the couch. His brother sat in the ratty chair. Sam went to his brother, parking himself at Dean’s feet.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean said with a smile. He handed his little brother his ice cream. “Got you chocolate chip, I hope that’s okay.”

“Definitely!” Sam said, taking the small bowl from his brother.

Sam reached for his spoon. He could already taste the creamy goodness.

“Sam.” At the sound of his father’s voice, the spoon stopped. Sam lowered it back to the bowl, trying to hide the shaking.

“Yes sir,” Sam said, looking up at his father.

“It’s a little late for ice cream, don’t you think?”

Sam began to nod, but Dean spoke up. “I promised him, Dad. I don’t think one time is going to hurt him. He could use a little meat on his bones anyway.”

Dean leaned down and poked Sam in his ribs. Sam smiled at his brother, even as he winced inside as Dean touched the bruise that covered his side.

“Dinner is soon,” John said. “Go put it away, Sam.”

Sam nodded and stood. As he walked to the kitchen, Dean couldn’t stay quiet. “Geez, Dad. Chill out a little. He’s only 9, the kid can have a treat every once in a while.” Sam didn’t hear his father’s reply. He placed the ice cream in the freezer and looked at it wistfully before he closed the door. With a small sigh, he turned and walked back to the family room. Once again he sat on the floor near his brother’s feet.

The rest of the evening passed way too quickly for Sam. Before he knew it, he was in his bed listening to his older brother’s deep breathing. “Dean,” he whispered.

Nothing.

“Dean?” Sam whispered a little louder. Still nothing but breathing from his brother’s side of the room.

Sam swept off his covers and stood up. His eyes lingered for a minute on the safety that was his brother, and then he turned and made his way to the garage. He opened the door quietly and then stepped inside. His father wasn’t there yet, but Sam knew that didn’t mean anything. He knew he had to wait, no matter how long it took John to come. He went to the middle of the two-car garage and stood quietly. His bare toes curled against the cold floor and he shivered as the chill of the garage began to seep through his pajamas. 

He gazed at the Impala and thought about what it would be like to the escape in her with his brother by his side. Sam lost track of how long he stood there, his feet going numb with cold, his small body trembling with fear and cold.

Finally, the garage door opened and John stepped through the door, his thick leather belt in his hand. Sam’s eyes filled at the sight and he tried to swallow. He licked his lips, wanting to say he was sorry and wouldn’t run in the house ever again. That the closet had been enough and his father didn’t need to hit him. But he knew it didn’t make any difference and speaking would only make things worse.

Without a sound, Sam reached down and pulled off his pajama shirt, revealing his thin chest. The shirt pooled on the ground and Sam softly walked over to his father. Then he turned and rested his small hands on the shelving unit in front of him. 

“Thirty should do it,” his father said. “I don’t want to hear a sound. You wake your brother up with your sniveling and you will regret it. Understood?”

“Yessir,” Sam managed to push out of his dry throat.

His father flick the belt out and the end brushed Sam’s bare feet. The belt whistled through the air, then landed with a resounding crack as it slammed into the child’s bare back. Tears came instantly as the sharp sting spread. Sam tightened his fingers around the edge of the shelf as the belt struck again. His father never held anything back, using all his strength as he beat his son. A small whimper escaped as the belt landed again and Sam bite down on his lips to keep the sounds in. 

More strikes found their mark and Sam’s arms shook as he held on tighter. His knees began to buckle as the beating went on, Sam strained to stay on his feet. He knew falling would be about as bad as crying out. Sam released his lips to take a breath as his father wound up again. Before he could lock his lips again, the belt fell. His legs gave out and he fell to one knee. Quickly he pulled himself up. Tears fell faster as the pain radiated through him. He held on. And the belt fell again and again. Please stop, he cried in his mind. Please. Please. Don’t hit me anymore. Dean, help me. Make it stop.  
Then finally it did. He could hear his father wrapping the belt back up, looping it around his hand.

Sam didn’t move, except for the shudders that shook his whole body. Sam listened as his father left, his footsteps leaving the garage as quietly as he had entered. He took a deep breath and then let go of the shelf. On shaking legs he walked to his discarded shirt. He held his breath as he lifted the shirt up and over his head, screaming inside as he pulled it over his raw back. When he was done, he stood for a minute, panting as he waited for the fire to settle down. When it finally settled to a low burn, he walked stiffly to the garage door and then quietly slipped inside. He was surprised to see the house was lit with the dim light of early dawn. A glance at the hall closet told him it was just past 5 in the morning.

Sam hurried now, afraid Dean would wake up before he got back. He entered their room quietly and slid in between his sheets, hissing as the sheet touched his sore back. He lay on his side, waiting for his body to calm down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments! Its so exciting (and a little scary) that people are reading my work.

Dean rolled over and saw Sam fast asleep, snuggled under his sheets. He smiled at his little brother as he stretched his hands over his head. Today was Saturday and he was grateful for the reprieve from school. His teachers were driving him crazy. Saturday meant they would spend the day training, especially since Dad was home. For the most part Dean loved training. Maybe not the running and push-ups, but the gun shooting and sparring was amazing. Dean glanced at the clock and was shocked to see it was almost 6:30. Dean jumped out of bed.   
“Sammy!” he said, leaping over to his brother’s bed. “Hey, it’s 6:30! We need to get up!”  
He shook his brother, frowning as Sam came out of sleep with a cry that sounded like pain. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned. When he saw Sam’s face, his concern deepened. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” he asked again.  
Sam looked up at Dean and smiled with a shrug. “Nothing, just a bad dream is all.”  
“Oh,” Dean frowned again. “I didn’t hear you, Sammy, I’m sorry.”  
“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said, smiling again. “I didn’t want you to. You need sleep.”  
Dean’s frown deepened even further. But before he could ask Sam what he meant, he heard his father yelling for them.  
“Shit, Sammy, we gotta go! Dad’s gonna be pissed.”  
At those words, Sam scrambled out of his bed, practically tripping on his sheets in his haste. Both boys raced around the room, grabbing workout clothes. Sam grabbed his as fast as he could and then ran to the bathroom. “Beat you!” he called out as he slammed the door.  
Dean shook his head, smiling fondly. He pulled on his sweats, shirt, socks and shoes and headed out to the family room.   
The house their father had found for them to stay in this town was small and old. But it was nice to have their own room so they had some privacy.  
“Where’s your brother?” John asked when Dean appeared.   
“He’s in the bathroom,” Dean explained. “He got there first.”  
John scowled. “What time are you boys supposed to be up and ready?”  
“6:30, sir.” Dean looked up at his dad. “Just over slept is all. It’s only 6:35am.”  
“Hm,” John grunted.   
Sam walked in, his hair sticking out everywhere, his shoes in his hand.  
Dean used the opportunity to run back to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. When he returned, his brother was standing, his shoes were on, but it looked like his eyes were watering.  
“You okay?” he asked his brother quietly as they followed their father outside.  
“Yeah,” Sam said, smiling at his brother. “I’m good.”  
“Okay, boys. Here’s the deal. We are going to start with a run. Five miles. I was going to give you 35 minutes, but since you’re…” John glanced down at his watch, “…8 minutes late, I’m only giving you 27 minutes.”  
Dean looked at his father, startled. “Twenty-seven, but Dad, Sam-,”  
“Time starts now,” John looked at his sons. “Do you want to waste your time arguing?”  
Dean watched his father click his watch and knew he didn’t have time to waste. “Come on Sammy,” he said, sending one last glare at his dad.  
He started to run, trusting his brother to keep up with him. Twenty-seven minutes to run five miles. They would need to stay on a five and a half minute mile average to finish in time. That was pushing it for Dean, but there was no way Sam would be able to keep up. Dean glanced at his little brother and saw the determination on his face. He could tell Sam knew what they were up against. “It’ll be okay,” Dean said to his brother.  
Sam glanced over and nodded, saving his breath.  
Dean looked at his watch and kicked up his pace. Sam stayed with him. The first mile passed and Dean saw that they had managed a five and half minute mile. “Good job, Sammy,” Dean said, cheering his brother on. “That is awesome!”  
Sam nodded, but Dean could see him gritting his teeth. His fists clenched as the boy continued to run full out. “Relax, Sam,” Dean said, “Don’t get too tense.” Sam tried to relax, but his body was screaming. He looked at his brother and nodded again, forcing his fists to unclench.  
“Atta boy,” Dean said when he saw. The boys continued to run and Dean looked at his watch. They were approaching mile two. Five minutes, thirty-six seconds. They had fallen off a little. Dean pushed more and Sam stayed with him. The third and fourth mile passed and they stayed on time.   
But it was breaking Dean’s heart. Sam was hurting, Dean could tell. He was having a hard time getting a breath and Dean wanted to stop so badly. But they only had 4 minutes left of their 27 minutes. “Come on, bud,” Dean said. He took Sam’s hand. “You got this.”  
Dean could feel Sam shaking, could hear that rattle of his lungs as he tried to breathe. Sam’s legs gave out and the child fell. Without slowing down, Dean picked Sam up, practically carrying him as he ran. “Come on Sammy,” he said, trying to be encouraging. “We’re almost there.”  
Tears began to track down Sam’s face as he ran. He put his head down and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He watched his brother’s feet and forced himself to keep going.   
Finally, Dean rounded the corner and saw his father standing with his fists on his hips. Still holding Sam’s hand, Dean raced towards John, not slowing until he was past him. Only then did he stop. His hands went to his knees and he sucked in air. Beside him he felt Sam doing the same. Dean straightened and put his hand on Sam back. “Breathe, buddy,” he said calmly. “Just breathe.”  
Dean looked at his watch and saw that they had come in at twenty-six minutes, fifty five seconds. He breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at his father. The older man just nodded. “Push ups now,” John said, pointing at the ground. “Fifty. Go.”  
Sam and Dean did as they were told. Dean watched his brother carefully, knowing that this was pushing his nine year old little brother to the edge. He felt pride though, most nine year olds would never be able to do what Sam was doing. Five miles in under 27 minutes? Then fifty pushups on top of that?  
“Sammy,” Dean whispered. “Hey, Sam.”  
Sam glanced over as he finished his next push up. “Yeah, Dean?”  
“You are badass,” Dean said with a smile. “I’m really proud of you.”  
Sam beamed at the compliment and despite the pain that raged through him, Sam felt happy. “Thanks Dean. I get it from my older brother.”  
The brothers smiled together and counted off their last ten pushups. Then they stood and looked at their father. John nodded. “Go take showers and then meet me out here in an hour. We will do some shooting practice.”  
“Yes!” Dean exclaimed, pumping his fist. Sam didn’t look nearly as excited as he followed his brother inside. “I call first shower!” Dean said as they entered their room. Dean began shedding his sweaty t-shirt and sweat pants. “Dude, I don’t know how you did all that. And in a hoodie no less. Aren’t you hot, man?”   
Sam nodded. “But I read that it keeps your muscles loose to wear long sleeves when you run.”  
Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re such a nerd.” He ruffled Sam’s hair and then went to take a shower.   
Sam watched his brother leave the room. As soon as Dean could no longer see him, Sam’s smile fell away and he crumpled to his bed. He whimpered in pain he couldn’t fight now that his brother wasn’t there to see him. He cried softly, every part of him hurt.   
By the time Dean was out of the shower, Sam had composed himself and was sitting on the bed, the tears wiped away. When his brother came back, Sam stood up stiffly to take his turn. Dean nodded sympathetically when he saw how awkwardly Sam was moving. “I’m pretty sore too man,” he said.  
“That run was tough,” Sam admitted quietly.   
Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’m not sure what Dad was thinking. I mean, grown men have a hard time running that fast.”  
Sam nodded. “But I did it,” he said.  
“Yeah you did, kiddo.”  
“I didn’t want Dad to punish you,” Sam added, looking at his brother. “It wouldn’t have been fair for you to run more just because of me.”  
Dean shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that, Sammy. Ever.” He frowned. “Seriously. I’d rather run more than see you hurting.”  
Sam smiled slightly and then headed for the shower.  
Dean finished getting dressed and then went out to the kitchen. He opened the cupboards, frowning when he saw a serious lack of food. He opened the freezer and spied a box of frozen pancakes. Then he noticed Sam’s ice cream from the night before. The kid never ate it last night. That seemed odd to Dean.  
Dean grabbed the box of pancakes and put two in the toaster. He found some milk in the fridge, but when he smelled it, it was so sour it turned his stomach. “Uh,” Dean said as he poured the milk down the drain. “Gross.”  
He really wished they had some eggs or bacon so he could give his little brother some protein. After that run, he needed it. Dean went back to the cupboard and pulled down the jar of peanut butter. He shrugged and decided it was better than nothing. He scraped down the edges and had just enough to cover Sam’s pancake.  
Sam walked in just as Dean was finishing.   
“Breakfast,” Dean said, setting the plate on the counter.  
“Thanks, Dean!” Sam said. He bit into the pancake and chewed. “This is great.”  
“Yeah,” Dean smiled but he still hated that the peanut butter pancake was all he could find. He began eating his own dry pancake.  
“Hey Dean,” Sam asked after a few minutes. “Can I have some water?”  
“Sure,” Dean said, moving to get a glass. He got down two glasses and poured them each a glass. “Here you go.” Then he moved to pick up the rest of his pancake. He felt something sticky and found peanut butter covering his pancake. “Sam,” he sighed. “Kiddo, this is for you.”  
Sam shook his head. “I already finished the rest of yours, now you have to eat the rest of mine. It’s not fair that only I get peanut butter.”  
“Sam…”  
“You need protein too,” Sam said seriously. Way too serious for a nine-year-old kid. “I’m full now anyway.” Sam added for good measure.  
Dean knew that couldn’t possibly be true. But he wouldn’t argue, so he ate the rest of the pancake. The peanut butter meant for his brother sticking uncomfortably in his throat. He gulped down his water and Sam did the same. “We should head out side, it’s almost been an hour.”  
“Okay,” Sam pushed away from the countered and winced as he started walking.  
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked.   
“Just sore,” Sam answered, trying to walk normal. “I’m okay.”  
The brothers walked outside and Dean could see that their father had set up a target for shooting practice. “Dad,” Dean began. “There’s no food, we need to go to the store.”  
John looked over at his sons. “Did you eat breakfast?”  
Dean nodded, “Yes, but-,”  
“Good. Then we can worry about that later. For now, I want you boys to get a gun and practice shooting the center of the target I’ve set up. You each need to hit the center 20 times.”  
“Yes sir,” both boys said. They each grabbed their gun, handling the weapon like pros. Then they stood side-by-side, ready to go.  
Dean took the safety off his gun and watched Sam do the same. Then he lifted his arm and aimed. His first shot went through the exact center of the target. He smiled and looked at Sam.   
The younger boy lifted his own arm and sent off his first shot. His bullet was slightly to the left. Sam frowned and tried again. This time, the bullet hit a little to the right.  
“Concentrate, Sam,” John said from behind him.  
Dean aimed again and again hit the center.  
Sam’s third shot missed the center by millimeters. “Good shot, Sammy,” Dean said. “That was so close.”  
“Close doesn’t cut it,” John said. “Close can get you killed because the big bad can keep coming. Again. You need to focus Sam.”  
“Yes sir,” Sam said again. He lifted his arm again and tried to control the slight tremor of his tired muscles. The fourth shot just barely missed. Sam let out a small huff of frustration and watched his brother’s bullet land in the middle of the target. He lifted his gun again and sighted down the barrel. Again his shot just barely missed the small circle their father had drawn in the middle of the target. He let off six more shots, each just barely nicking the circle. Sam lowered his gun.  
“Sam,” John barked at his youngest. “Dean has hit the center of the target ten times already. He’s halfway there and you’ve yet to hit it once.”  
“I know,” Sam said, frustration clear in his voice. “I’m trying.”  
“I’m sorry, is that attitude you’re giving me?” John went to stand behind Sam.  
“N-no, sir,” Sam stuttered.  
“Dad-,” Dean turned, concerned at the tremor in Sam’s voice.  
“Again,” John said. “Hit the circle. Do it now.” He crossed his arms and watched his son lift his arm again.  
Sam’s arm trembled more violently now. Fatigue and fear starting to overtake him. He tried to calm down, tried to stop shaking. He stiffened his arm and desperately pulled the trigger. His shot was way off.  
“Damn it Sam,” John said. “Dean,” John turned to his oldest. “Finish up then go inside and cool down. You and I will do some sparring later, but first I need to work with your brother.”  
That didn’t sit right with Dean. “I don’t mind staying out here Dad, it’s not that hot. I can help Sammy too.”  
John seemed to contemplate Dean’s suggestion and then he nodded. “You have one hour to see if you can get him to hit the target. Then it’s my turn.”  
“Yes sir.”  
“But you need to finish yours first.”  
“Yes sir.” Quickly, Dean fired at the target. Over and over again, stopping only to reload. Out of the twelve shots he let loose, ten of them hit the target. John nodded, satisfied.   
“Okay, Sammy,” Dean said, turning to his brother. “I think you just need to relax, you’re really tense.”  
“I’m trying, Dean,” Sam said quietly. “I am. Truly.”  
“I know bud.” Dean guided Sam’s arm up and helped him aim. “See, like this, so the barrel is lined up here.”  
Sam nodded and then pulled the trigger. The bullet went straight through the circle. “I did it,” Sam breathed in relief.  
“No, Dean did it,” John said from his place behind them. “He won’t be there when the big bad is chasing you down. You need to be able to fend them off yourself.”  
For the next hour, Dean worked with Sam. He helped him see how to line up the gun and how to be ready for the pull of the gun. Sam relaxed under his brother’s gentle tutelage. His bullets started hitting the center.   
Bullet seven hit the center of the target and Sam smiled at his brother. “Thanks, Dean.”  
“Still have thirteen left. Dean, your hour is up. Head inside and I’ll take it from here.”  
“Dad-,”  
“Dean, I’m really not going to ask you again.”  
Dean hesitated for a minute and looked at Sam. “You’ve got it now, dude, you’re fine. Just keep doing it just like we’ve talked about. You’ll get the thirteen quick and then we can relax together.” Dean looked at his father as he said the last sentence.  
“Dean.”  
“Going, I’m gone.” Dean gave his brother one last pat on the shoulder, then turned to go inside.  
Once Dean was inside, he settled in to make a shopping list. After Sam was done, they could head to the store. His stomach rumbled, but Dean ignored it. Instead, he turned up Led Zeppelin to help him think.  
A few hours later, he had listened to his mix tape all the way through twice, made the list, cleaned his and Sam’s room, cleaned the kitchen and cleaned the weapons that had been laying around. He stood up when he finished and cracked his back. He frowned, realizing Sam had never come to join him. Usually his brother came and found him first thing. His stomach gnawed uncomfortably and Dean set out to find his father and brother.  
He was shocked to see they were outside. From the window, he could see the sweat on Sam’s face and he saw the way Sam’s arm was shaking as he lifted his arm again. He missed the circle by a lot and he saw his brother flinch. “That’s 23,” his father said, angrily.  
“Twenty-three, what?” Dean asked as he came back outside.  
“Missed shots,” Sam said quietly.   
Dean looked at his brother. He looked absolutely miserable. “Dad, don’t you think he’s had enough? He’s been out here for hours. I’m starving. I made a list, Sam and I can run to the store and then we can make a late lunch.”  
“You go Dean, your brother still as eleven targets to hit.”  
Sam’s shoulders slumped slightly. Dean wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t been watching him.   
“I think he’s had enough,” Dean said carefully. John was obviously angry, and an angry John was never a good thing. Which meant Dean wanted to get Sam out of John’s path. “Maybe he could just take a break. Come get food with me, eat some lunch, cool down a little. Then he can come back and hit that target eleven more times.”  
John seemed to think it over and then he started to shake his head.  
“Dad-,” Dean said in a hurry. “He’s tired and hungry and he’s only nine years old. I know the big bad won’t care that he’s tired and hungry, but its just practice.”  
“I can keep going,” Sam said quietly, not want to cause a scene.  
“No,” John finally said, looking at Dean. “Dean’s right. We can finish this later.” He turned toward Sam and Sam nodded slowly.   
“Yessir,” he whispered.  
Dean put his arm around Sam and pulled him away from his dad. “Do we have cash, or do you want me to use a card?”  
John frowned. “We’ve used too many cards here. This is why I hate staying in one place for too long. Use cash.”  
“K,” Dean said. “Come on Sammy.”  
The boys went into the house and Dean pulled out the jar where his father usually kept some cash. Inside he found one five and three ones. “$8.00? That’s it. Maybe Dad has more.”  
The boys went back outside and they saw John practicing his own shooting. Rapidly, he shot off a round, cursing when he didn’t hit the circle on the last round. He shoved bullets in the gun, swearing even louder when one dropped on the ground.   
Dean could feel Sam shaking next to him.  
“I didn’t mean to make him mad,” Sam said looking up at Dean.  
“I know kiddo, it’s not your fault. Come on, I’ll make it work.”  
Together, the boys went to the store and Dean carefully picked out food, trying to stay in the eight-dollar budget. He got some eggs, bread, peanut butter and milk. He saw Sam looking longingly at the chicken, but it was way too much money. He paid and then the boys walked home.  
John was nowhere to be seen. Dean unloaded the groceries and then made Sam some bacon, eggs and toast for lunch.   
“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said tiredly. He leaned his head on his fist as he started to eat. “’s good.”  
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean sat down across from his brother.  
“Mmhmm, just tired,” Sam rubbed at his eye as he put more eggs in his mouth.   
“I see that. Maybe after lunch you can take a nap.”  
Sam snorted. “I have eleven targets to hit.”  
“True. We’ll go out after this and get those done. Then we can watch TV, sound good?”  
“Yeah. Okay.”  
The boys finished up and then worked together to clean up the kitchen. Then they headed out to finish up target practice. With Dean’s guidance, Sam was able to get the circle eleven times within forty-five minutes.  
“Done,” Sam said, relieved as he dropped his arm.  
“Good job, kiddo. Let’s clean up.” Again they worked together, putting away the targets and the weapons.  
Once inside, they sat down and Dean turned the TV on. He fiddled with it until a clear picture came on. An old baseball game appeared on the screen. “I guess this works,” he said.   
“Yep,” Sam said. He pulled his knees up and rested against the arm of the couch.   
Dean smiled fondly as Sam’s eyes drifted closed immediately. Then he snuggled back in the couch to watch the game.  
Not five minutes later, John returned. Both boys jumped at the slam of the door. John entered the room and took in his boys. “What is this?”  
“Sam hit the target eleven more times,” Dean said, jumping up. “We finished.”  
John’s eyes narrowed. Dean could smell the beer on his breath and noticed a ketchup stain on his father’s shirt. So that’s where the money went.   
“Well if you are done with target practice, it’s time to move on to sparring.”  
Sam pulled himself off the couch, wearily facing his father.  
“Let’s go outside.”  
Sam and Dean followed their father outside once again.  
“Dean you first, then Sam and then I want you to spar with each other. Sam, you will watch your brother and try to learn something.”  
“Yes sir,” Sam said. He watched as his father and older brother set up and then they began to wrestle. Dean was quite a bit smaller then John, but he was quick and more flexible. Sam watched Dean carefully, trying to figure out how he got his arms wrapped around John’s shoulder, how he pulled him down, how he avoided getting locked up and taken down. He tried to remember how Dean moved.  
Before Sam was ready, it was his turn. Dean stepped off, his nose and a cut over his eye were bleeding, the blood mixing with the sweat that dripped down Dean’s cheeks.  
Sam stood in front of his father. “And go!” John said. He brought his arms down hard around Sam and slammed him down onto the grass. Sam clenched his teeth against the scream of pain that threatened to come out as his raw, welted back made contact with the grass.  
Dazed, Sam tried to get his arms around his father, but John seemed to be everywhere. Sam was slammed against the ground again and tears came to his eyes. He stood up again, trying frantically to remember what he was supposed to do. His father came for him again, but this time Sam managed to dodge his arms.  
“Good job, Sammy,” he heard Dean say.  
Sam glanced at his brother and was immediately slammed to the ground. Sam let out a low cry and rolled this his side, holding a hand to his back. Pain radiated through him.  
“Get up.” John stood over Sam, hands on his hips. “Get up, now.” John kicked Sam. “Now.”  
“Dad-,” Dean moved forward.  
“Not now, Dean,” John said as he pulled Sam to his feet.  
“But-,”  
“Dean, I’m sick and tired of you interfering today. Babying Sam will not help.”  
Sam stood, swaying slightly. He wiped at his tears and then looked at his brother. “S’okay, Dean. I’m okay.”  
Dean looked uncertain, but he stepped back. His father and brother continued to spar. Dean looked away a couple times, angry words building inside him as he watched his father go full force on his little brother. John didn’t hold anything back and although Sam tried, he was no match for his strong, military trained father. Dean’s fists opened and closed and he wished he could spar again with John. Then he’d have a reason to punch the man. He knew sparring was important and that it was something Sam needed to learn to be a hunter, but it was still hard to watch.  
Finally, John called time and Sam staggered towards Dean.   
“Your turn Dean,” John said, gesturing to the mat. John must have sensed the refusal, because he added, “Do not fight me on this or I will make your sparring session longer.”  
Dean bit his tongue and led Sam back to the grassy area they were using to practice. John called out go, and the boys wrapped their arms around each other. Dean let Sam bring him down, trying to make it look like he was trying. But John wasn’t fooled.  
“Damn it Dean. What did I say about babying him?”  
Dean looked at Sam. His brother had blood on his cheek, a bruise on his jaw. Sweat dripped down his face, his hair drenched with it. Dean could also see the trembling of Sam’s overworked muscles. His brother was exhausted.  
He shook his head. “I can’t,” Dean said, his voice defeated. He rarely defied his father like this, but he just couldn’t.   
“Take him down once, for real. Or I will go another round with him.”  
Sam flinched at the words and he looked at Dean, pleading with his eyes.  
“Yeah, okay,” Dean said uncomfortably. He swiped his hand over his face then moved into position. “I’m so sorry, Sammy,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around his baby brother.  
John yelled go. Dean felt Sam try to fight against him. But Sam was done, his exhausted body had nothing left. Dean closed his eyes and easily lifted his brother up and dropped him to the ground. Sam’s sharp cry as he hit broke Dean’s heart. Sam rolled off his back immediately and rested his cheek against the grass. He clenched his teeth together but it didn’t stop the low whimpers that escaped.  
“Hey,” Dean said as he fell to his knees next to his brother. “What happened? Are you okay?” Dean reached for his brother’s shirt to see why Sam was in so much pain.  
“I’m okay,” Sam said hurriedly. He rolled again and swallowed the cry as his back touched the ground again. “It’s okay.” He dragged himself to his feet. He saw John looking at him with a warning in his eyes.  
“Sammy, you’re hurt, let me see.” Dean approached again.  
“No!” Sam said, his eyes swerving desperately to his father, wishing John would do something to distract Dean. But of course he didn’t. “I’m fine, I promise. I-I didn’t mean to cry out. There must have been a rock or something, but it just stung for a minute. I’m fine though Dean, I swear.” He smiled and hopped up and down. “See, totally fine.”  
Dean’s eyes narrowed. But he finally backed off.  
Sam glanced over at his father’s stormy eyes. In reality, the truth was quite the opposite. He wasn’t okay, not at all. His back felt like it had been set on fire and he could feel a slick wetness, sticky on his shirt. Some of the welts must have broken up from the constant pounding. “I actually need to go to the bathroom, really bad.” He walked past Dean, hoping the blood didn’t show through his sweatshirt. He hurried, as fast as his bruised, exhausted body would let him, to the bathroom. Once there, he took off his sweatshirt and t-shirt. Blood streaked the back of the t-shirt already, so Sam used it to clean off his back. The cool water felt good as he dabbed where he could reach. The welts weren’t bleeding badly and it didn’t take too long to get cleaned up. His sweatshirt had only a few small streaks of blood on the inside, so Sam pulled it over his head again. Then he balled up his t-shirt and went back to his room where he shoved the bloody shirt in to the bottom of his dresser. He looked back at his door with a small sigh. He really wished that his father would go on another hunt.  
Sam found his brother in the kitchen.  
“I thought you went to buy food?” his father questioning Dean. “Why is there no food?”  
“There was only $8.00 in the jar,” Dean explained. “I got eggs, bacon and bread. I couldn’t afford more.”  
“Damn it Dean,” John slammed the door shut. “I’m hungry.”  
Sam looked at his brother and felt sad. Dean always tried so hard, but it never seemed to be enough. Dean had worked his tail off today and had been perfect with everything John asked of him but never once did he say good job. Sam walked over to his brother and lightly touched his hand.  
“Hey Sammy,” Dean said quietly. “I’m sorry, Dad. I got what I could. Sam and I are hungry too.”  
“Yeah well. You wanted eggs and bacon, you can eat eggs and bacon. I’m going to get some real food. Dean, go in my room and get my coat.”  
Dean looked surprised. “Why-,”  
“Now Dean.”  
“Oookaaay,” Dean dragged the word out, but left the kitchen to get his father’s coat.  
Sam watched his brother go, knowing for whatever reason his father had sent him away for could not be good. Without warning, John’s hand slapped across Sam’s cheek.  
Sam buried the pain and looked up at his father. “Yessir,” he whispered.  
“You will be in the garage tonight, do you understand?”  
“Yessir,” Sam said, sighing on the inside.  
“You owe me twenty-three marks for those missed shots.”  
“Yes sir,” Sam answered.  
Dean came back in carrying John’s coat. John took it and put it on. “I’ll be back later.”  
The brothers watched their father go quietly and stayed that way until they heard the roar of the Impala.   
“So eggs and bacon for dinner,” Dean said.   
“That sounds good,” Sam said. “I like bacon and eggs.”  
Dean put his arm around Sam and Sam let himself rest again his older brother. He wanted to hold on to him and never let go, but instead he pushed away and stood up.  
Both boys were tired and they made their dinner in silence. Dean added bread with peanut butter to their plates and then sat down to eat.   
The evening passed peacefully. After dinner, the brothers decided to go to their room instead of watching TV.   
Once Sam was in his pajamas, he went to his bed. He knew that he couldn’t fall asleep because he was supposed to go out to the garage, but he needed Dean to fall asleep first.   
He laid on his side and watched his brother, who lay on his own bed, tapping out the rhythm of the song that played on his radio. Sam thought of all the times during that day that Dean had tried to help him. So often. Dean was always there, trying to make things better. Dean was good, the most amazing person ever. Sam knew that Dean worshipped their father. He knew that Dean thought his father was basically a super hero because he fought the big bads. Sam also knew that their father didn’t appreciate Dean. If he did, he wouldn’t yell at his brother so often, or make him feel like he was anything less than perfect. But Sam knew his father loved Dean and didn’t want to see him hurt. Otherwise, Sam was pretty sure Sam wouldn’t be there anymore. Dean was happy, safe. He was Sam’s rock, his best friend, his older brother. Sam would do whatever it took to keep him safe and happy. It was all Sam wanted for his brother, and it was what Dean deserved, more than anyone Sam knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Dean seems a little clueless. I know. But I do believe that Sam would do anything to protect Dean and that's what he's doing. He may only be 9, but he's one tough little kid. And the reasons will become more apparent and I hope you'll understand more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize how exciting it would be to see people reading my story! I'm so excited, I couldn't wait until tomorrow to post the next chapter.

Dean looked over at Sam as his breathing evened out. Sam was out and it didn’t surprise Dean in the least. The kid had worked hard that day, harder than any little kid should have to. John seemed to have pushed Sam harder today than he ever had in the past. He didn’t quite understand why, but he wondered if John was worried about something that was coming. He seemed convinced that Sam needed to be able to protect himself. Dean hoped it would never come to that. Dean would always be there to protect him.   
With that thought, Dean turned off the radio and his lamp and followed his brother into sleep.  
It felt like only minutes had past when he was woken up by the sound of soft cries. He looked over and Sam and saw him fidgeting on his bed.   
“No,” Sam whimpered. “No…please.”  
“Sammy,” Dean got off his bed and went to his brother. “Hey.” Sam was having a nightmare. “I’m here little brother, I’m right here.” He rested his hand on Sam’s arm. Sam calmed down, the whimpers stopped. Dean crawled into bed with his brother and wrapped his arms around the smaller boy. “I’m right here,” he whispered again. Sam pressed into him and Dean felt him relax. “There you go buddy. I got you.”

Sam opened his eyes and saw the light coming through the blinds on the window. He bolted upright, nearly knocking Dean off the bed.  
“Wha-,” Dean grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  
“It’s morning!” Sam cried, scrambling out of bed. “It’s morning,” he repeated as his feet hit the floor.  
“Yeah,” Dean grumbled as he flopped back on the bed. He glanced at the clock and saw it was just past 6:00 in the morning. “Come back to bed, Sammy. Dad doesn’t need us until 6:30, still have a few more minutes.”  
But instead, Sam hurried out of the room.  
He went straight to the garage and found it empty. He swallowed hard and stepped into the chilly room. Quietly he closed the door behind him. He only waited for seconds when the door opened again and his father came through, a storm on his face.  
“I-I’m s-sorry,” Sam said, stuttering over his fear. “F-fell as-sleep.”  
His father backhanded him hard across the face and the blow brought him to his knees.  
John picked him up by the arm, and then brought his hand down on Sam’s cheek again. “What did I tell you? I came in here last night and you weren’t in here.” He shook the scared little boy.  
“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” Sam whispered. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, he had just been so tired. He remembered waiting for Dean to fall asleep, the next thing he knew he woke up to the light through the blinds. “P-please.”  
“Worthless brat,” John hissed. “Dean will be waking up soon. We will deal with this later. I don’t want to hear a word of complaint today. Do you understand?”  
“Y-yes Sir,” Sam managed to say.  
John shoved him backwards, hard enough that Sam lost in footing and fell on his back. With that, John left. Sam rolled over and climbed to his feet. He put his hand on his throbbing cheek. Sam opened the garage door and stepped into the hallway. He saw Dean walking out of the room and he quickly wiped his tears.  
“Hey buddy,” Dean said, immediately concerned. “What happened? Why were you in the garage? What happened to your face?”  
Sam’s mind spun with possible reasons why he could have been in the garage this early and why a bruise was forming on his cheek and why he was crying. “I-I thought it was the bathroom. I g-guess I got confused and opened the wrong door. I wasn’t expecting the stair and I fell and hit my face on the cement.”  
Dean snorted. “Sammy, I could tell you were out of it. The way you woke up was weird man.” He paused. “But you’re okay right?” Dean put his hand on Sam’s chin and lifted up, looking at his brother’s eyes and cheek. “Looks like you hit pretty hard.”  
Sam shifted away from his brother’s hand. The last thing he wanted was his father to see Dean babying him. “I’m okay.” He smiled. “Just really need to use the bathroom.”  
“Okay, just don’t take all day. It’s almost 6:30am.”  
Sam nodded and then walked to the bathroom.  
The day was much like the previous one, although since they arrived in front of their father at exactly 6:30am, they had the full 35 minutes to run their five miles. But push-ups followed, then a small break and shooting practice. Again, Sam found himself struggling to hit the target. His father whispering in his ear how many he’d missed didn’t help the shaking of his hands at all.  
Finally, finally, after hours of holding the gun stretched out, his father determined the seventeen times he had hit the target would have to do for the day. Instead of sparring, he marched the boys inside to read up on common monsters and how to kill them.   
Sam sat down on the couch, his book open in front of him. With a grumble Dean sat next to him. He knew Dean would much rather be sparring, but Sam was happy for the rest. He was just settling in to read when his father’s cell phone rang.  
From John’s side of the conversation it sounded like a new hunt had been found. Inside, Sam rejoiced. His father was going to leave on a hunt! Maybe he’d leave now and Sam’s punishment could wait. Even if John left tomorrow and Sam’s punishment was tonight, at least he’d get a break while John was gone.  
When John got off the phone he turned to his boys. “There’s a hunt in Pennsylvania. We need to do some research.” With that, John related the facts that had been given to him on the phone and the Winchesters began the research.   
It was late when John finally released the boys to bed.  
Dean fell into his bed, muttering sleepily about how much he hated research. Sam sat down on his bed and picked up a book. He didn’t want to lie down in case he fell asleep again. He didn’t have to wait long before Dean’s breathing evened out. He waited a few more minutes and then crept quietly out of the room.  
He went right to the garage and waited silently.   
He didn’t have to wait long. Soon the door opened and he watched as his father entered.  
“Come over here,” John said, his voice hard.   
Sam walked to his father, standing just in front of him. John pushed his son forward until he was standing in front of the workbench. Without a word, John pulled Sam’s pajama pants down. They pooled around the boy’s ankles. His boxers followed and Sam felt his face redden, as he stood half naked in front of his father. Next John grabbed Sam’s shirt, pulling it up and over Sam’s head. He left it there, so Sam’s arms were still in the shirt, but his back was exposed.  
Sam began to tremble from cold and fear. He could practically feel the anger pulsing off of his father.  
“Put your hands on the bench,” John snapped out.  
Sam did as he was told, holding on to the edge of the workbench. He heard the slide of his father belt as it uncoiled. Sam’s body tensed as he waited for the first blow.  
“How many shots did you miss?” John asked.  
“F-fifty-two,” Sam whispered.  
“That’s right. Fifty-two. And what did I say?”  
“O-one mark f-for each m-missed shot,” Sam said.   
“Yes. You will count so I can hear you, or else it starts again. Understand?”  
“Yes sir,” Sam said, his voice shaking with anticipation. He knew all this. He just wished his father would start so he could get it over with.  
He felt the swishing of the belt at his feet and he tensed even more, waiting for the first strike. The belt moved around his feet and Sam shut his eyes, waiting. He felt his father shift behind him, but still the belt didn’t fall. Sam’s breathing picked up as he waited.   
And then the first strike fell, leaving a fire in its path. Sam gasped. “One,” he barely remembered to say.  
Then belt began to fall in rapid succession. Sam cried out the numbers, pushing the numbers out through his clenched teeth as he fought the need to scream out.  
“Thirty,” he cried. He whimpered as the belt fell again, seeming to find a new place that wasn’t on fire. His arms bent and his chest hit the edge of the workbench. “Thirty-one,” Sam pushed out. His throat felt raw from keeping the screams in. The belt fell again, hitting just below his bottom. Sam let out a gasping cry.   
The belt continued to fall, crisscrossing up and down Sam’s backside, from the tops of his shoulders to the back of his thighs. Instead of tiring, John’s arm just seemed to get stronger as each blow struck.  
John lifted his arm and brought the belt down with every ounce of strength he had. Sam screamed through his clenched teeth. “P-p-please,” Sam cried out.  
John waited to see if Sam would say the number. 3—2…  
“Forty-nine,” Sam gasped. “Forty-nine,” he repeated. “Please,” he begged again.  
“Shut up,” John growled. “I’m adding two more for the two words you should not be saying.”  
A whimpered cry escaped Sam at the words. He clenched the table edge harder, waiting for the next blow. It came, landing on Sam’s lower back. “Fifty,” Sam whispered.  
The next two blows fell quickly.  
Just two more Sam thought to himself. Two more. The next lash landed square on his bottom and Sam gritted his teeth. “Fifty-three.” Sam clenching down so hard he was surprised his teeth didn’t crack. John wound up, his hand high above his head and brought the belt down so hard, the child lost his footing and went to his knees. Choked cries filled the garage.  
“Number?” John said. “Do I need-?”  
“Fifty-four!” Sam cried, realizing what John was saying. “Fifty-four, fifty-four!”  
No more! His brain cried. He couldn’t take anymore. Please, no more.  
John kicked at Sam. “Stand up.” When Sam didn’t move right away, John kicked him harder. “Now.”  
Sam stood on his shaking legs. Tears streaked down his cheeks, his lips bleeding from clenching so hard to keep in his screams.   
“Jesus you are a mess.” John smacked him. “Clean yourself up. Get dressed. Go to bed.” Then he turned and left the garage.  
Awkwardly, Sam pulled up his pants, crying out as the fabric hit his abused bottom. He whimpered as he pulled his shirt into place. Taking a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down, Sam began to walk to the garage door. The fire in his back ignited again and he had to stop. Tears began to fall again and he moved forward, fighting through the intense pain. He went to the bathroom and washed his face, the cool water offering relief to his hot face. He washed off the tears and blood and made his way to the room he shared with his brother. He opened the door as quietly as he could, relieved when he saw that Dean was still asleep. He moved through the door and went to his bed. He lay down on his stomach and closed his eyes. His back throbbed mercilessly. Tears slipped silently past his closed lids, dropping onto his pillow. His fists clenched his pillow as wave after wave of agony washed over him.  
At long last, he fell into a fitful sleep.  
The next morning, the boys awoke at 6:30. Sam groaned as he opened his eyes. His body felt stiff and raw. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to move.  
“Ugh,” he heard Dean say. “It’s Monday. School today.”  
“I like school,” Sam said. He winced, his voice was wrecked from holding in his screams.   
“You okay, Sammy? That didn’t sound so good. Are you sick?”  
With an effort, Sam turned his head so he was facing his brother.  
Dean gasped. “Sam, you look awful. Seriously, are you sick?”  
“Don’t feel so good,” Sam admitted, although he knew it wasn’t because he was sick. Dean came over and laid a gentle hand on Sam’s forehead. “Feels a little warm,” he muttered to himself. Dean carded a hand through Sam’s hair. Sam sighed a little at the gentle touch. “Do you want me to get Dad?”   
“No!” Sam said hoarsely. “I’m okay.” He pushed himself up to his knees and then climbed off the bed. He smiled at his brother as best he could as pain pulsed through him. “I’m good.”  
Dean did not look convinced as he watched Sam waver on his feet. But he didn’t say anything.  
Sam headed for the bathroom and Dean watched, chewing on his lip worriedly as he watched his little brother. Something wasn’t right.  
Dean went out to the main room and found his father sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. “I think Sammy’s sick.”  
John looked up. “Why?”  
“He has a sore throat and he’s moving real stiff. He feels a little warm. He might have the flu. Could you call into the school and let them know that Sam and I won’t be in?”  
“Absolutely not, Dean you need to go to school.”  
Dean’s eyes widened. “But I need to take care of him. Sammy can’t stay here alone.”  
“What are you talking about?” John asked. “I’m here. I can take care of him.”  
“I thought you were headed out to Pennsylvania,” Dean said.  
John shrugged. “If my boy is sick, I can stay and take care of him until you get back.”  
“Dad, you don’t-,”  
“Dean, it’s fine. I want you to go to school.”  
Just then, Sam entered the room. He had changed from his pajamas and now he wore his worn jeans and hoodie sweatshirt. “Good morning,” he said softly.  
“Morning, Sammy,” Dean replied. The older boy stood and went to make eggs and bacon for breakfast. “How are you feeling?”  
“Okay,” Sam answered, “Better.”  
“That’s good. Go ahead and have a seat, I’ll have your breakfast ready in a jiffy.”  
Sam nodded and walked over to the wooden chair at the table. He looked at it, wondering if it would be too obvious if he just stood. But he caught his father’s eye and saw John’s eyebrow rise. Sam nodded and slowly set himself down on the chair. A soft whimper exploded from him as he slid back into the chair. Tears pricked his eyes and he clenched his sore jaw together. Sam’s hands tightened into fists and he waited for the pain to pass. He saw his father still watching him, silently threatening.  
He tried to get his body to relax, but the pain was so intense. The little boy let out a shaky breath.  
“I think you are right Dean, he doesn’t seem to feel good. I will keep him home. But I don’t want you to miss school. It looks too suspicious.”  
“Dad, I can-,” Sam started, the idea of spending the day with his father without the protection of his brother terrified him.  
“No, you are sick Sam. I can’t send you to school.”  
“Yes sir,” Sam said quietly, looking down at his hands. He forced them to open and he laid them on the table.  
After breakfast, Sam watched as Dean packed his backpack and then left with their father to drive to school. Sam went back to his room and sat on his bed. He wondered what his father had planned and he had a feeling it wasn’t good. He just prayed he wouldn’t spend the day locked in the closet. He rubbed his wrists, looking at the faint bruises that still wrapped around the joints from the last time.  
Sam really didn’t like the closet.  
He heard the rumble of the Impala and knew his father was back. He wasn’t sure what to do, if he should go out to greet his father or if he should stay in his room. He stood up on his shaky legs and went to his door.  
“Sam!” he heard his father shouting. “Get your ass into the garage, right now!”  
Sam’s eyes widened and he swallowed thickly. Another beating? He couldn’t…not now when he was already in so much pain. Tears filled his eyes as he walked down the hallway. He lifted his shaking hand and opened the door. His father stood in the garage, a paper bag next to him. Sam’s heart began pounding as he entered.  
“I have to go to Pennsylvania,” John began. Sam nodded, he knew that. Maybe John was just going to leave him. Maybe the bag had food in it. Maybe… “I need Dean on this hunt, so after school I’m going to pick him up and head out.”  
Sam nodded again, although he didn’t like that at all. He hated when his father took Dean on hunts. He was always so scared that Dean would get hurt or worse. His brother was tough and strong, but he was also only thirteen.  
“I’m going to tell Dean that Bobby was nearby and came and got you, because you’re sick and can’t come.”  
“I’m going to Bobby’s?” Sam asked, hesitantly. He liked Bobby’s. He let Sam read any book he wanted and he never hit Sam. The only thing he didn’t like about this situation was that Dean wouldn’t be with him. Sam would rather stay with his dad if it meant he could stay with Dean.  
“No,” his father said with a cruel sounding chuckle.  
Sam frowned and his trepidation grew. “Then where am I going to be?” Sam asked, his voice shaky.   
He watched as his father pulled a plastic box out of the shopping bag. Sam’s confusion grew when he saw what it was. “Go to the bathroom,” his father said. “And then put one of these on.”  
“I don’t…what, I mean…why?” Sam asked. He was scared and confused and his brain refused to process what was his father was asking him to do. He stared at the diapers his father held out to him.  
John reached out and slapped his son. “Are you questioning me? You should grateful I’m allowing you to wear those.”  
“B-b-but why?” Sam asked.  
John slapped Sam again. “Go!” he roared.  
Sam turned and ran into the house, as fast has his abused body would let him. He relieved himself and then stared at the box of diapers. Completely mortified, he took off his boxers and pulled the diaper on. It felt bulky and awkward on. He wiped his tears as he pulled on his jeans over the diaper. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t really a diaper, it was for kids who wet the bed. But he hadn’t wet the bed since he was three. He took the box and walked out of the bathroom. He could feel his cheeks burning red as he reentered the garage. He saw the trunk of the Impala was opened and his dad stood next to it, the duffels on the ground next to his feet. For a brief moment he paused as his smart brain started put things together.  
“Come here,” John said.  
Sam shook his head, not wanting what he thought was about to happen. “Please, don’t,” he pleaded. “Please Daddy.”  
At the words, John came forward and grabbed Sam’s arm, hauling him closer to the trunk. “Please,” Sam cried. “Please don’t put me in there.”  
John hit him again, ignoring his son’s pleas. “You don’t make a sound. If Dean finds out,” he paused and looked down at Sam’s terrified face. “Then you know what will happen.”  
“I know, but please-,”  
“Shut up. I will let you out so you can change your diaper at night once Dean is asleep.”  
Sam began to cry harder, shaking his head as his father dragged him closer. “P-please! D-d-don’t. Please. I don’t want to go in there.”  
John hit him again and lifted him up. “Will you shut up? I swear, Sam, if Dean hears you…” he let the threat trail off menacingly.  
“I – know – but – please,” Sam choked on the words, his body shuddering as he was placed in the trunk. “No, p-please. N-no.”  
“Scoot all the way to the back,” John said, completely ignoring his son’s desperate begging. When Sam didn’t move fast enough, he shoved the little boy back until his hit the back of the seat. Then he picked up a blanket.  
Sam began to sob in earnest. “I’ll be good. D-daddy, I’ll be good,” he cried. John opened the blanket. “P-please! No!”  
John covered his child up, hiding him from view. Sam was cried even harder, his body shuddering. “God, would you shut up?” John said angrily. He tossed the duffels into the trunk and looked, satisfied that Sam was hidden from view. He slammed the trunk shut.  
Sam screamed as he was plunged into blackness. The dark was absolute. He couldn’t even see the blanket in front of him. Sam took huge gulping gasps as he tried desperately to calm down. The dark seemed to close in on him, like a physical being, stealing his breath, the inky black crawling over his skin. Sam shuddered and gasped and could not calm down. “Dad!” He screamed, unable to hold it back as terror clawed at him. “Please! I’ll be good! Let me out! Please! I’ll be good!”  
A loud thump sounded on the hood and Sam jumped at the noise. He heard his father’s muffled voice telling him to shut up.   
Sam locked his jaw shut to keep from screaming, his teeth chattering as his body shook. Tears streamed down his face. He hugged his arms to his chest, brought his knees up, curling into a small ball. Eventually the sobs calmed, replaced by small whimpers. Eventually those calmed as the little boy fell into an exhausted sleep.  
Awhile later, Sam opened eyes and he blinked for a minute, unsure and confused. And then he remembered and he felt the terror coming back. He fought against it, using the low rumble of the Impala that had always comforted him before. He took three deep breaths. As his heartbeat stopped roaring in his ears, he became truly aware that the Impala was moving. That meant that it was probable that Dean was in the car and he could not let Dean find him. The thought of his brother calmed him down even more. And as his heart stopped pounding in his eyes and his breathing returned to normal, he realized he could faintly hear his brother talking. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was just in the backseat, not locked in the trunk.  
“Dad, I still don’t get why Sam couldn’t have just come with us. He wasn’t that sick.”  
“I already explained it to you Dean. He needed a chance to get better. Where we are heading, it’s pretty isolated and I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want to leave him alone. He would have been a distraction for you. I need you sharp.”  
“But still,” Dean argued. “I don’t think he needed to go to Bobby’s.”  
John sighed. “It’s what’s best. Trust me Dean.”  
“I do, Dad. I just miss him. I don’t like it when he’s not here.”  
“I know Dean. That is one thing I do know.”   
The sounds of Metallica came through and Sam knew Dean had turned up the radio. He wished his brother would go back to talking. The music, although soothing, wasn’t nearly as comforting as his brother’s voice.  
The ride was long and every time the Impala hit a bump, Sam’s head collided with the floor of the trunk. He tried to stop it, but it was hard when he couldn’t see when the bumps were coming. At one point, the car stop and he heard his father and brother exit. A while later, they came back, Dean talking excitedly about the best cheeseburger ever.  
It made Sam aware of his empty stomach, which in turn brought his attention to his full bladder. But he refused to use the diaper. He went back to listening to his brother talk as the Impala started again and the journey continued. Sam carefully tried to stretch out his legs, but even though he was small for his age, he couldn’t get them all the way straight.   
More time passed. Sam focused on the rumble of the Impala, the music, and his brother’s occasional voice to take his mind off his hunger and the need to relieve himself that was getting overwhelming.  
After what felt like hours and hours, the Impala turned off and Sam heard the doors open and close again. Then, after a little wait, he heard the trunk open. He froze, praying it was John to release him from the prison of the trunk. But whoever it was just grabbed the duffels and slammed the lid down again. Tears pricked Sam’s eyes as he was left in silence. He wanted out of the trunk so bad. He hated the dark and cramped space. He started shaking again as time went by. The trunk had been fairly warm throughout the day. But now, a chill started to spread. Sam tucked his legs up, to capture a bit of warmth.  
Sam was just starting to doze off when the trunk opened again. This time, the blanket was taken off and Sam blinked as the light from the moon seemed bright after so long in blackness. He saw his father standing over him.  
“Get out,” John said, grabbing on to Sam’s arms.  
Sam let out a loud gasp as he moved the first time in hours. The bruises and welts made themselves known and Sam whimpered as he was pulled from the trunk. John set him on his feet and he nearly fell. Then John shoved something in his hands and Sam saw it was a new diaper.   
“Go change yourself,” John demanded.  
Sam looked around and saw that they were at an old cabin. He moved towards the front door and immediately John smacked the back of his head. “Where the hell are you going?”  
Sam bit his lip and looked up at his father. “The bathroom?” he said, his voice hoarse from crying.  
“Not in there, you might wake Dean up. He bugged me enough, wanting to call you. Luckily this place is so remote that there’s no phones lines so he’ll leave me alone now.”  
Sam looked around. “Where?” he whispered, scared he knew.  
John swept his arms out. “Pick a tree.”  
Sam nodded and moved towards a tree that would give in some cover. After he had finished emptying his overfull bladder, he pulled on the new diaper. Then he walked stiffly back to the car and looked at his father, wondering what would happen now. John held out a half full water bottle, and Sam drank gratefully. The water felt wonderful on his dry throat. Then John handed him a pack of peanut butter crackers. Sam began to eat them. After he picked up the third, John took the pack away. “I need to get back inside,” he said. “Get back in.”  
Sam stared at the trunk that had been his prison all day. He licked his lips. “Maybe I could just sleep in the back seat,” he whispered. “I’ll get in the trunk before Dean wakes up.”  
The only answer he got was being picked up and dropped in the trunk. John shoved him back and then threw the blanket on top of him.  
The next day continued much like the previous one. Except John did not let him out in the morning and he couldn’t last all night and day. To his complete mortification, he had to use the diaper as the need became too much. Tears fell down his cheeks as he finally let go, so embarrassed he could hardly stand it.  
That night, when John let him out, Sam could barely move. His small body had cramped after 24 hours in the small space. When he got out, he saw that they were at another small cabin in the middle of the woods. Grimacing as he walked, he found a tree and proceeded to clean himself up.   
When he got back to his father, he handed Sam another half bottle of water and another packet of crackers. Sam devoured the crackers, shoving them in his mouth. This time he ate four before John took them away. He bit down on his lip to keep from asking for more. And when John pointed at the trunk, he climbed in without a fight. Again he was locked in the blackness.  
This time, when he woke up, the car was still. Sam listened, wondering what time it was. The last two days, the car had been in constant motion, except when his brother and father had stopped for food. He wished he knew what was going on. Time passed and Sam, desperate to know how much time, started counting to himself. He reached 200, and the car had not moved. He kept going, counting quietly, when he reached 500, he started to worry. Were they hunting? Already? Sam lifted a hand and ran it through his sweaty hair. It was hotter in the trunk that it had been when it was always moving. He pulled the blanket off his face, wishing he had the nerve to take it off his body, too. He shifted, trying again to straighten his legs. Trying to take his mind off the heat and the darkness, Sam started counting again, whispering the numbers to him self. When he reached one thousand, he could feel panic starting to set in. He was hot. Really hot. The air was so stuffy, each inhale was work. Sweat dripped into his eyes and ran in streams down his face. Sam lifted the blanket off him, holding it up, desperately wishing for cooler air. His arms hit the top of the trunk and he felt the panic start to claw at him. “Let me out,” he cried softly. “Please, let me out.” He shifted onto his back, biting down on the blanket to block the scream as his raw back touched the hard trunk floor. He rolled immediately. He cried, whimpering in pain and then in fear. Three days locked in a trunk felt like an eternity. He was hungry, thirsty and hot. He just wanted out. “Please,” he cried. “Please. Let me out…,”  
He had no idea how much time had past when he finally heard the sound of someone approaching. He heard footsteps and immediately pulled the blanket over back over his head. The trunk opened and a duffel was thrown in. Sam bit back a grunt as it hit his stomach.   
Then the car started and Sam strained his ears, wanting to hear his brother’s voice.  
“Got it! We rock Dad!”  
John’s rumble of laughter could be heard over the sound of the Impala. “Now don’t go too far Dean, but we did kill the big bad.”  
“Can we call Sammy now? Let him know we got it and are coming to get him?”  
If John answered, it was too quiet for Sam to hear.  
“But Dad!” Dean whined, so Sam was pretty sure John had said no. “California? That’s like a four-day drive just to get there! I miss Sam, he must be feeling better.”  
California? Eight days round trip plus the time needed for the hunt? Sam shoved the blanket in his mouth to stifle his sobs. Tears raced down his cheeks at the prospect of spending ten more days in the trunk.  
Eventually, Sam fell asleep, sheer exhaustion pulling him under.  
When he awoke, the Impala had stopped and the trunk was once again cold. The sweat that had dried on his skin seemed to make him even colder. Sam pulled the blanket tighter around him. Suddenly, the trunk opened. Sam froze, not even daring to breathe. The blanket pulled back and his father’s angry face glared down at him. “Dean is getting worried,” John grumbled. “Keeps bugging me to come get you,” John said as he yanked Sam out of the trunk. Sam stumbled and his legs buckled. He fell awkwardly to the ground, crying softly as his sore body moved.  
“Stand up,” John demanded, kicking the little boy to get him moving.  
Sam tried, but after so long it was hard to get his body to cooperate. He grabbed onto the bumper of the Impala and he pulled himself to his feet. He stayed bent over, holding the bumper, his legs shaking uncontrollably. Pins and needles shot down to his feet. Sam squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the feeling to pass.   
“You are pathetic,” John said harshly. “Get a move on.”  
Sam looked up and saw that John held out another diaper. Sam took it silently. He noted they were at another abandoned cabin as he walked to a tree. Vaguely he wondered how his father kept finding these places. For a brief moment he wanted to take off, just run into the house screaming. Dean would come, Sam knew it. He would come and wouldn’t let John put him back in the trunk. Dean would let him eat, let him drink. He’d keep him safe. But…Sam glanced back at his father and nodded. There was no way Sam was going to run. Not when he knew what his father would do.  
So Sam hobbled to the nearest tree. He did his business, replacing the soiled diaper with a fresh one. Then he tottered slowly back to John. He stared at the trunk, wishing with everything he had that he didn’t have to get back in. He waited for John to give him some water and crackers, like he had done the previous two nights. John just looked at him, his eyebrows raised. They got even higher as Sam continued to stand there.   
Sam tried to swallow around his dry throat. But he didn’t dare ask for anything, so he climbed into the trunk, settling into his place against the back seat. The blanket came over him and once again, Sam was trapped in darkness.  
Sam didn’t sleep that much that night. The trunk was cold, colder than it had been before. He shivered even with the blanket tucked around him. His stomach ached, the sharp hunger pangs, reminding him that in three days, he only eaten 7 peanut butter crackers.  
When he heard footsteps coming toward the car, he sighed, mentally preparing for another day of darkness. He was glad the night was over, but it didn’t mean much for Sam. He did tuck his knees closer to his chest to protect himself from the duffels. The trunk opened and the duffels were thrown back in. There was a slam and then a brief pause before the Impala rumbled to life.   
Hours and hours later, the car came to a stop. He felt around his face, making sure the blanket still covered him. The trunk opened and Sam heard Dean’s voice close by.   
“Hey Dad! Do you want all the duffels? Or just the clothes?”  
Sam stopped breathing, holding as still as he could. He felt exposed, even with the blanket covering him. It was the first time in the four days that Dean had been the one to open the trunk.   
“All of them!” his father shouted back. “And hurry!”  
He heard his brother lifting the duffels. “What about this blanket?” Sam felt the blanket move and then suddenly he was blinded by more light than he had seen in four days.


	4. Chapter 4

“Sammy?” Dean whispered. “What-?”  
Sam squinted at his brother, trying to see through the glaring light. “No, no,” he whispered, trying to yank the blanket back. “You don’t see me,” he said desperately. “Dean, just close the trunk, please, you don’t see me.”  
Sam could see his father coming to the car. He tried to cover himself back up, but it was too late, he made eye contact with his father and knew it was too late. “No!” Sam cried.  
“Sam?” Dean was baffled. “Why are you in the trunk? Have you been there the whole time?”  
Sam struggled out of the trunk, the pain the sudden movements caused buckling his knees, but he didn’t let it stop him. “No!” he screamed. “No! I didn’t mean to, please!” He put himself in front of his brother as John came up in front of the boys.  
“Dad, what is going on?” Dean asked, his voice still somewhat dazed.   
But Sam was frantic. “No!” he was screaming over and over again. He pulled on Dean, trying to get him away. “Dean, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.   
“What did I tell you?” John roared. He backhanded Sam and he fell.  
“I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t tell. No!” Sam saw his father take Dean’s arm and he scrambled to his feet. “No! Please. No!” Sam grabbed Dean’s other arm and tried to pull him away from their father. “NO!”  
“Will everyone just stop,” Dean said, trying to get a handle on the situation. He did not understand what was going on.  
But neither his father nor his brother listened. John continued to lead Dean to the old cabin and Sam tried to pull him back.  
“Get away from him!” John hit Sam again, knocking him to the ground, again.  
“Dad!” Dean cried. “Stop! Sammy, are you okay?” He tried to pull out of his father’s grip, but his dad didn’t let go. He pulled Dean into the cabin and closed the door.  
“NO!” Sam’s anguished scream echoed through the woods. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he pounded on the door. “Please don’t! Dean! DEAN!” Sam’s fists were bleeding from his pounding. He rammed his shoulder against the door, not caring when pain ricocheted through him. “DEAN!” he screamed again. Over and over again. Panic seized him as he desperately tried to get to his brother. He clawed at the door, trying to tear it apart. “DEAN!”  
A gunshot ripped through air, the sound loud in Sam’s ears. He screamed and yanked on the door handle. His stomach clenched and he fell to his knees, vomiting bile, heaving over and over again.   
The door opened and John stepped through, his gun still in his hand. Sam glared up at him from his hands and knees, hatred shining through the pools of tears.  
“Don’t look at me like that,” John said. “I told you what would happen if you told him.”  
“I-I d-d-d-d-didn’t,” Sam sobbed. “I-I-I t-t-t-t-r-ied to h-h-hide. H-h-he l-lift-ed the b-lan-ket.”  
John shook his head and yanked Sam up by the arm. “Come on. Your turn.”  
Sam didn’t even fight. His brother was dead and it was all his fault. He had known what would happen if Dean found out. His father had made it very clear from the start. Sam let his father lead him down the porch stairs and into a clearing. “Get on your knees.” He said as he shoved Sam down.  
Sam knelt in the dirt, staring at his trembling hands. He felt his father press the muzzle of the gun against his head and he closed his eyes.  
He heard the safety click off and the hammer pulled back over the roaring off his heart pounding in his ears. His body shuddered from left over sobs, each breath he took making the shaking worse.  
“NO!”   
There was a shot, but the expected pain and nothingness didn’t come. Sam opened his eyes just in time to have his face smashed into his brother’s chest. “Dean?” he whispered.  
“I got you,” Dean said hoarsely. “I got you.”   
Sam climbed into Dean’s arms, trying to burrow into his brother’s chest.  
“Shh,” Dean whispered, tightening his arms.  
“I thought you were dead,” Sam cried.  
“I know. I’m not.” Dean struggled to his feet, still holding his brother tight against him. He looked at his father who was standing up, recovering from Dean’s punch. “Stay away from us,” Dean said, backing up.  
His father looked sad. “Dean, I told you to stay in the bathroom.”  
“No,” Dean said, shaking his head. “You locked me in the bathroom so you could come out here and kill—my little brother.” Dean’s voice stumbled on the word and he held Sam tighter.  
John sighed deeply. “Get the in car,” he finally said.  
“No way.” Dean shook his head.  
Sam shoved against Dean’s arms, getting him to release him. “Don’t hurt him, please,” he begged.  
“He’s not going to hurt me,” Dean said.  
Sam didn’t hear him. “I didn’t tell,” Sam continued. “You said you’d kill him if I told, but I didn’t tell.”  
“Get in the damn car,” John growled. He shoved both boys hard on the shoulder, directing them towards the Impala.   
“No.” Dean said firmly. He stepped back.  
“Damn it,” John said. He took the gun still in his hand and aimed it directly at Sam. “I said get in the car.”  
Dean stared, and then opened the backseat door with a shaky hand. He helped Sam in and then slid in next to him. John grabbed the forgotten duffels, tossed them in the trunk and came around the driver’s door.  
Sam clung to his brother, refusing to let go. He was so scared if he let go that John would take him away and kill him for real.  
Dean rocked his brother. He wanted to ask him what in the world was going on, but he didn’t dare say a word in front of his father. His father, if he could even call him that. He didn’t even know the man that was sitting in the front, driving the Impala. What was going on? Dean’s brain seemed to refuse to process the information that was in front of him. His brother, in the trunk? Then the gunshot and John aiming a gun at Sam? What was going on?  
John reached the first motel he could find. He opened the door and went into the lobby.  
When he returned he opened the back seat door and signaled to his boys to exit. The brothers followed, unsure of what was happening now. He led them to a room, opened it. He tossed the bag with their clothes into the room and put a twenty on the table. “It’s his fault, you know,” John said to Dean. “You think about it. Without him, you’d have a mother, I’d have my Mary. He’s not at all what you think he is. I’ll be back for you, Dean. You’ll make the right choice.”   
Then he turned and left. The Impala roared to life and then he was gone.  
When they could no longer see the taillights, Dean let go of Sam.  
“Sammy, tell me what’s going on.”  
“I don’t know,” Sam whispered. “He said he’d kill you if you found out, but he didn’t. But he was going to kill me.” Sam looked up, his face soaked with tears. “I don’t understand.”  
“If you told me that you were in the trunk?” Dean asked quietly.  
Sam hesitated and then nodded.  
“Have you been in there since we left that old house, when Dad said that Bobby came and got you?”  
Sam nodded again. Dean felt sick to his stomach. For four days they had driven around with his little brother locked in the trunk of the car and he’d had no idea.  
“Do you know why?” Dean asked, wondering what reason John could possibly have had to lock a nine year old in the trunk.  
“I…,” Sam thought back over the past few days and tried to think what it was that had made John decide to do this. “I think because I was hurt and couldn’t really move. I think that made him mad.”  
Dean frowned at that. “Why were you hurt?”  
Sam bit his lip and shook his head.  
“Sammy. Why were you hurt?”  
“I missed too many shots,” he said so quietly Dean barely heard him.  
“You missed. Shots? You mean like during target practice.”  
Sam nodded, not looking at Dean.  
“Wait--, so Dad hurt you?”  
Sam continued to look at the floor. “I can’t…,” he whispered.  
“Yes you can. Sammy, Dad’s not going to hurt you anymore.”  
The younger boy finally met Dean’s eyes. Slowly he nodded.  
Dean knelt down and held Sam’s shoulders. He looked up into Sam’s glittering eyes. “How, buddy?”  
“His belt,” Sam words were barely a whisper. Saying the words out loud was terrifying.  
Dean swallowed thickly. “Turn around.”  
“I don’t want to you see.” Sam’s voice was heartbreaking. His fingers twisted in front of him and he looked down into his brother’s green eyes. He saw tears there, where he’d never seen tears before. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”  
“This isn’t your fault. I promise. Please let me see your back.”  
“Dean…,” Sam whispered. “C-can’t you just forget? J-just go back to thinking Dad’s a hero. I bet if you do that, Dad’ll let it go that you found me. If he comes back and you don’t know anything else. Then you’ll still have Dad.”  
Dean shook his head. “Sammy, that was just an illusion. Any man who could lock a kid in a trunk for days is no father of mine. I will rip his lungs out when he comes back. I promise you that. But I want to check your back, make sure its not too bad.”  
“Dean…,” Sam blinked and tears slid down his cheeks. “But Dad’s your hero.”  
“And you’re my kid, Sammy. The most important thing in my life. Bitch.”  
Sam smiled tentatively. “Jerk,” he whispered. “Cept maybe pie.”  
Dean snorted. “Nope, you’re more important than pie. Seriously kiddo, I need to see it.”  
Dean waited as Sam hesitated, his fingers twisting in knots. “Just don’t be mad, k?”  
“Oh I will be,” Dean assured Sam. “But not at you. Not at all at you.”  
Slowly Sam turned around and he felt Dean lift his shirt.  
Dean lifted the hoodie, revealing skin that was so deep purple, it was nearly black in some places.  
“Holy shit,” Dean whispered as he lifted higher. He could see welts amidst all the purple. “Sammy…what did he do?”  
“It’s okay,” Sam answered, wringing his hands. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”  
Dean snorted at the ridiculousness of that statement. “Come here.” He led Sam to the bed and gently helped him take off his sweatshirt. “Holy shit,” he repeated as Sam’s entire back was exposed. The deep purple went from the tops of his shoulders and disappeared below the waist of his jeans. Small cuts were interspersed around his back. Dean felt tears prick his eyes as he imagined how much this must hurt.  
“It’s okay,” Sam repeated. “I deserve it.”  
“No. Sam, no. You really don’t. Nothing you could have possibly done justifies this.”  
Sam nodded. “I killed Mom.”  
Dean was aghast. “You were six months old. You had nothing to do with that.”  
“Doesn’t matter. What it was that killed her, it was in my nursery. Dad says it was there for a reason. Something to do with me and if I hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have killed Mom.” Sam sat up and pulled his sweatshirt back on. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”  
“Sammy,” Dean whispered as he pulled his little brother to him. “It’s not your fault, kiddo. Even if the big bad was there because of you, you didn’t ask him to come, you didn’t invite him in. There’s no way it was your fault.”   
“Dad doesn’t agree.”  
“Dad is very wrong.” Dean held Sam against him for another minute and then an awful question came. He pulled Sam back and looked at him straight in the eye. “How long has he been hitting you, Sammy?”  
Sam looked down, not answering.  
“Sam.”  
“He started about two years ago,” Sam said quietly. “He came home for a hunt and sent you right out to get food. And he was so mad. He said that he met a big bad that knew what had killed Mom. He said it was a demon and that the demon had been there because of me. He said there was something bad in me, a monster. Dean, he said I’m a monster.” Sam swallowed thickly.   
“You aren’t a monster Sam.”  
Sam shook his head slightly. “That was the first time he beat me. Then he told me that if I ever told you, he’d kill you because he’d rather have you dead than knowing the truth. But, I guess he didn’t mean it because he didn’t kill you.”  
“Geezus,” Dean exhaled. “He was just saying that, to keep you from telling me. I really wish you had told me.”  
Sam squirmed and looked down at his hands. “No matter how bad I wanted to, I couldn’t Dean. I never would have. He--,” Sam stopped and clamped his mouth shut.  
“He what.”  
Sam shook his head.   
“Sammy.”  
Sam traced a finger on the seam of his jeans. “Doesn’t matter.”  
“Yes it does. What did he do?”  
Sam tightened his fingers into a fist. “He woke me. He woke me up that night and he had his gun in his hand. He put it in my hand and made me stand next to you while you slept. He put his hand over mine on the gun, with my finger on the trigger. He made me put it against your head and he pulled the safety off,” Sam sobbed. “I didn’t know what was happening and I thought he was going to push down on my finger. I thought I was going to kill you Dean! But then he dragged me outside. He told me that if I told you what was happening it would be the same as if I had pulled the trigger that night.” Sam banged his fists against his thighs. “Do you know what that was like? To see you with a gun, safety off, pressed against your head?”   
Dean nodded, thinking back to just that night when he’d run out and seen Sam on his knees, gun pressed to his temple. “Yeah, Sammy, I do.” But I didn’t hold it to your head, and I wasn’t seven years old, Dean thought, completely appalled by what Sam was saying. “I get it, Bud, I do.”  
Sam swiped at his eyes. “I wish I could have told you Dean, so many times, I thought if Dean knew it wouldn’t hurt so bad. But I couldn’t tell. Not ever.”  
“Sammy, I get it. I get it.” He pulled his brother against him again, holding him tightly while Sam sobbed. “I got you,” he whispered.  
Eventually, Sam’s sobs relented and he pushed away from Dean.  
Dean looked at Sam and another thought occurred to him. “Why does he still tell me to protect you? I mean, I would have anyway, but he makes such a big deal about it. Yet he’s been beating you for two years?”  
“It’s part of the illusion,” Sam answered, his voice serious. “He thinks by asking you to protect me it makes it obvious that he cares. He didn’t want you to ever know.” Sam was quiet for beat. “He knew that if he left me behind, you’d be sad and he didn’t want to do that to you. He said you’ve been through enough.”  
Dean sat back on the bed, so overwhelmed by what he was hearing he felt like his brain was powering off.  
A surge of pride came over him, choking him, as he looked at his kid brother. What this little boy had endured, the words he’d heard, the pain he’d felt and yet he had remained such a sweet, good, funny, smart, annoying pain in the ass. All the times they had laughed together, play wrestled or Dean had poked him, not once had Sam ever, ever acted like he was in pain. Instead, he had play fought back, giggling like any other nine year old, acting free and happy. When in reality, he had to be terrified, knowing what lurked in the shadows, what waited for him when his father could get him alone.  
“You are pretty damn amazing,” Dean finally choked out. He put his hand on Sam’s cheek. “You know that kiddo?”  
Sam shook his head.  
“Yeah, I get that too,” Dean said quietly. “Take your sweat shirt off again and lay down for a minute, I want to put something on your back. Maybe some ice, or something.”  
Sam followed directions.   
“How far down to these go?” Dean asked, tugging on the waist of Sam’s jeans. Dean saw the diaper and stopped. “Um.”  
Sam realized what Dean was seeing and felt humiliation flood his face. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and wanted to die.  
“Dad made me,” Sam whispered.   
“Yeah,” Dean answered. “Sam, how often did Dad let you out of the trunk?” Dean tried to think back, but he didn’t remember his dad leaving him alone.  
Sam pushed himself to sitting and looked at his brother. “After you went to sleep, he’d let me out to go to the bathroom and change my—change.”  
“Once a day?”  
“Yeah. I mean, I guess it’s good he gave me a d—one. I couldn’t last, even though I tried.”  
Dean rubbed his forehead. “He fed you right? Did he leave food in the trunk for you? A water bottle at least?”  
Sam squirmed uneasily. “He did give me food.”  
“But?” Dean could tell he wasn’t going to like this.  
“He gave me a drink of water and some crackers when he let me out at night.”   
Dean nodded. “So you’ve had a couple of crackers to eat in the last four days.” He looked at his brother’s thin chest, at the ladder of ribs he could count. “You must be starving.”  
Sam nodded jerkily. “But it’s not too bad. I must have done something wrong because Dad didn’t give me anything last night. Early today my stomach hurt really bad, but I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”  
Dean stood up suddenly and began pacing around the room his movements jerky. Sudden rage filled him, blurring his vision, roaring in his ears. Anger at his father, anger at himself. How had this happened? He picked up a chair and threw it across the room.   
Sam flinched and scooted back.   
“How can you be so calm about it!” Dean shouted. “You’re starving, thirsty, your back is nearly black with bruises. You spent four days in a damn trunk!”  
Sam had backed up until he hit the wall. His hands shook so hard and he clutched them together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me.”  
Dean stopped when he heard his brother’s quiet words. He went to his brother and knelt in front of him. He pulled on Sam’s shaking hands and held them tightly. “I’ll never, ever hit you Sammy. Never. I’m sorry I made you think I would. I’m just so mad at Dad, I can’t stand it. This isn’t right.”  
“It’s--,”  
“Don’t you dare tell me it’s okay.” Dean shook his head. “Sam, this is so far from okay.” Dean paced away from Sam. “We need a plan. First, you need to get out of that…,” Dean waved his hand and immediately felt bad when Sam’s face burned bright red. “Not your fault, kiddo,” Dean reminded him. “Then, we’ll go get some food. And then I want to get something on your back. That must hurt like a bitch.”  
Sam nodded, and then looked like he wanted to say something.  
“Yeah?” Dean asked when Sam closed his mouth and looked away.  
“I—maybe I could take a shower, too. I feel so gross.”   
“Of course! Whenever you want.”  
“Now? Would that be okay?”  
“Yep,” Dean nodded. “Do you want me to go find food while you shower?”  
Sam shook his head frantically. “Don’t leave. Please, what if Dad comes back while you’re gone? Please, no--,”  
“Sam. Hey.” Dean put his hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Breathe bud, I’m not leaving. I promise. I’ll be right here. Okay?”  
“Okay,” Sam blew out a shaky breath. “Okay.”  
Sam went to his duffel and pulled out his boxers, his other pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Then he went to the bathroom.  
Dean waited silently. He smiled slightly when Sam left the door open. “Not going anywhere, Sammy,” he said, not sure if Sam could hear him.  
“I know.”  
Dean waited. He didn’t know what to do. How was he supposed to keep Sam away from John? He was thirteen years old. If they took off, which was Dean’s first instinct, they would probably get caught and then either returned to their father or turned in to child protective services. Then what would happen? No way they’d stay together. Maybe they could try to make it to Bobby’s, he might help. Dean looked at the twenty dollars John had left them. Maybe it was enough to get a bus ticket to South Dakota. If they got caught before they made it to Bobby’s they could still end up in protective services, but at least they had a destination. Maybe it was worth a risk.  
Dean heard a small whimper from the bathroom and he rushed to the door. “You okay? What happened?”  
“N-nothing,” Sam said and Dean could hear the pain in Sam’s voice. “Water just hurts is all.”  
Yeah, definitely worth the risk.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean stared at the twenty dollars in his hand. While Sam was in the shower, he had called the local bus station. A bus to South Dakota left in two hours, which was great. Tickets would be twenty-five dollars each. Which was bad. That was more than they had. The ride would take two days. Also bad. There was no way Sam could go another two days without food. Dean rubbed a hand to his forehead as he tried to think.  
“Dean?”  
Dean looked up and saw his baby brother standing in front of him. His wet hair was brushed back and he wore a t-shirt and jeans. Dean felt nauseous when he realized how long it had been since he’d seen Sam in short sleeves. He hadn’t even given it a thought. Bruises marked Sam’s thin arms, shaped like fingers from where John had obviously grabbed him. He noticed abrasions around Sam’s wrists and picked his arm up. He looked closer and realized it was rope burns. Dean swallowed thickly. “He tied you up?”  
“Not often,” Sam said quietly. “Just when he locked me in the closet.”  
“Geezus,” Dean said softly. “Come here.” Dean pulled Sam to him. Sam buried his face in his brother’s chest. Dean’s arms locked around him and he rocked his brother gently. “I’m so sorry, Sammy,” Dean murmured. “I’m sorry I didn’t see, didn’t help.”  
“I didn’t want you to see,” Sam said, his words muffled by Dean’s shirt.  
“I know kiddo, but I still should have. I’m your big brother. I should have kept you safe.”  
Sam didn’t say anything, just held his brother tighter.  
Dean squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head on Sam’s wet hair. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.   
The helplessness in Dean’s voice broke Sam’s heart and he felt tears in his eyes. “We should wait for Dad to come back,” he said. “Maybe now that you know, he will stop.”  
“Maybe,” Dean answered. “But we don’t know. I just…we don’t have enough to get bus tickets to Bobby’s.”  
“Could we call him?” Sam asked, sitting up.  
“I don’t know his number, Dad has it.”  
“Oh.”  
“I could try to steal the money--,”  
“No! Dean, no. You could get arrested!” Sam’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “You can’t.”  
“Yeah,” Dean whispered. Sam rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, feeling a little dizzy. “You okay?”   
“I don’t feel good,” Sam answered, closing his eyes.  
“You need some food,” Dean said. “That’s what we are going to do. Find some food. We will figure out the rest later.”  
The boys stood up and went outside. It was very dark and Dean didn’t see many lights. He tightened his hold on Sam’s hand as they walked out to the street. Down a ways he saw a blinking red light that said “open.” “Come on,” Dean said.  
Sam walked next to him, but Dean could feel him stumble every couple of steps or so. Sam had held it together great, but Dean knew he had to be feeling awful. Not only had he not eaten in basically four days, but he’d spent those days cramped and unable to move.  
When they arrived at the hole in the wall diner, Dean led Sam in, taking him to a booth. Sam sat down and laid his head on the table. He closed his eyes to fight a wave of nausea. His stomach had begun to pang again and he clutched at it.  
“Sammy,” Dean said softly. “What do you want to eat?”  
“Dunno,” Sam said, miserably. “I don’t feel good.”  
“I know buddy, hang on.”  
A waitress came and looked at Sam. “He should be in bed,” she said looking straight at Dean.   
“Yeah, well, he’s not because he’s hungry,” Dean answered back, not quite able to take the guilt her look caused. Because it was after midnight. Of course Sam should be sleeping. He also should be full of good food, pain free and safe.   
“Can I get some water, no ice,” Dean said, swallowing any snappy response he could make. “And what’s the soup?”  
“Tomato,” the waitress said.  
Dean nodded. “We’d like a bowl of that with a side of rice. I’ll have a cheese burger and fries.”  
The waitress left and then returned quickly with a two glasses of water.  
Sam lifted his head when the water was put in front of him. “Drink slow,” Dean cautioned.   
Sam nodded and brought the glass to his lips. He closed his eyes as the cool liquid filled his parched mouth and throat.  
Dean watched sadly as Sam took sips of the water. His hands fisted under the table, as the small sips turned bigger, until Sam was gulping down the water. “Sammy,” Dean said quietly.  
Sam nodded and put the water down. “Sorry,” he said softly.  
“Don’t apologize, bud,” Dean said. Their meal arrived and the boys ate quietly. Every so often Dean would remind Sam to slow down. He knew if he ate too fast, Sam’s meal would come right back up.   
Dean’s cheeseburger tasted like saw dust in his mouth. He picked at it, not hungry for the first time in his life. His mind whirled with all that he had seen that night. The most important thing was keeping Sam safe. But Dean had no idea how to do that. Getting to Bobby’s was definitely the best option, but getting to Bobby’s was a huge problem. Dean tossed the fry on his plate, disgusted.  
Sam looked up from his soup. “Dean, are you okay?”  
Dean snorted. “You don’t have to worry about me, kiddo.”  
Sam put his spoon down and bit his lip. “But I am. I hate this.”  
“You and me both, kid.” Dean sighed. “Finish up Sammy, we need to get some sleep.”  
Sam nodded and ate the rest of the soup. Dean noted how he sopped up every last drop. “Did you get enough?”  
“Yep, that was yummy, thanks Dean.”  
Dean smiled and went to pay for their meal. They now had $12.52 to get them to Bobby’s. Dean put the money in his pocket and walked back to his little brother. Together they walked back to the motel.   
Later, Dean lay next to Sam, listening to him breathe. He would figure it out. In the morning, they’d take off. He’d find a way to get them to Bobby’s, somehow. It was the only option.   
The next morning, Dean woke up before Sam. He rolled over and looked at his little brother sleeping. Sam looked so incredibly young, so vulnerable in his sleep. How could anyone hurt him? What was his dad thinking? Dean didn’t understand. The only thing he understood was that he needed to keep Sam safe, somehow. Dean slid out of bed and went into the bathroom to take a shower.  
Sam opened his eyes when he heard the shower going. He sat up carefully, trying not to jar his back. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a minute. On the end table between the beds, he saw the paper Dean had used to scribble notes on while he’d talked to the train and bus stations. He could see Dean’s frustration in his dark lines crossing out fares that were too high. Sam felt so bad for his brother. He shouldn’t have to be responsible for Sam.  
Without warning the motel room door swung up. Sam jumped, his heart racing as his father walked through the door. John looked around and only saw his youngest. It took him mere seconds to realize the shower was going and a slow smile spread over his face. John softly closed the door and two steps took him to his youngest, who was staring with fear in his eyes. “You ungrateful little brat,” John hissed. He swung out, backhanding Sam, sending him tumbling to the ground.  
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, trying to untangle himself from the blankets. His heart sank, obviously Dean knowing wasn’t going to keep him safe. Sam found his feet, only to be knocked down again by his father’s fist. Sam whimpered as blood spurted from his nose.   
“I told you not to ever tell Dean,” John said through his teeth, keeping his voice low. He pulled Sam up by his hair, shaking the young boy. “Do you see how upset he is? Do you know what you did?” His fingers clenched around Sam’s jaw, the grip bruising. “You just broke his damn heart. Do you think he deserves to lose his mother and his father? You saw the way he looked at me!” John threw Sam on the bed and flipped him over, yanked off his shirt. Sam heard the slide of the belt and his heart began to pound in his ears.   
“I didn’t me-an to,” Sam cried. “Pl-ease, pl-ease, don’t h-hit me-e.” The belt slammed into the deep purple and Sam screamed into the mattress. He scrambled in the sheets, desperate to escape the pain. “St-op, pl-ease,” he cried as the belt fell again. Again the mattress muffled his scream.

Dean paused, his hands still filled with suds as he washed his hair. He thought he heard something. Quickly he rinsed his head and hands and then shut off the water, straining to hear through the door. He heard it again and he pushed out the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. The same sharp thud sounded again and this time Dean heard the muffled scream. He jerked the door open. Bile rose in his throat as he took in the scene in front of him. His baby brother lay on the bed, his arms and legs squirming as he tried to escape. His father stood over him, one hand holding his head down, making escape impossible, the other held high over head, ready to slam the belt down again. “Dad,” Dean croaked. “Stop!” he yelled louder. He jumped on his bed and ran over it, leaping on to his father’s back, desperate to stop the belt before it fell again. Dean glanced down and saw red oozing from Sam’s beaten back, trickling down to the white sheets beneath him. He grabbed the belt and wrenched it out of John’s hands. He swung with all his might at his father, heard a satisfying crack when it landed across the older man’s shoulders. “How do you like it?” Dean screamed.   
John roared and made to grab the belt but Dean swung it around again, striking John’s back. “Doesn’t feel so good does it?” He danced away from John, grabbed the older man’s arm. He used his momentum to slam John down on the bed and held him there. He lifted the belt again and put every ounce of his strength into the next blow. “And you have a shirt on!” Dean yelled, as he slammed the belt down again. He twisted John’s arm harder, trying to reach his shirt to pull it up.  
John used Dean’s distraction to yank his arm back and shove Dean onto the floor. Dean leapt to his feet, the belt raised again.  
And through the haze of rage he became aware of the sounds of terror. Sounds like he had never heard before, and his name being repeated, over and over again. He lowered his arm and saw his little brother, huddled in the corner, shaking from head to toe. Crying his name.   
“Sammy,” Dean whispered. The belt slid from his hands and he ran to his brother. Then he turned, protecting Sam as best he could. Behind him he could hear Sam’s soft “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and it broke his heart.  
Dean looked at his father, his hero and tried to blink the tears out of his eyes.   
“Dean,” John said sadly, spreading his hands in front of him, “Son, please listen to me. He deserves it, there’s something…not right…with him. You have to trust me.”  
Dean shook his head. “He’s my little brother,” he said hoarsely. “You hurt him so bad. How could you do that?”  
“Mary--,”  
But Dean interrupted before John could continue. “He had nothing to do with Mom. He was six months old!”  
“The big bad was there because of him,” John said as if Dean hadn’t spoken.  
“What does that even mean? He was six months old.”  
John shook his head and took a small step forward. “There was something that the big bad wanted, something he needed from or with Sam, that’s why he was in the nursery that night. If Mary hadn’t gone in there, she wouldn’t have gotten in the way and she would be safe.”  
“What about Sammy?” Dean whispered. His father truly believed this.  
John shrugged, “Who knows? Honestly I don’t care. There’s something in him that drew the big bad to him. I say if he wanted him, he could have taken him.”  
Dean looked over his shoulder and saw Sam shaking, his cries had tampered off to silence. His hands were clasped in front of him and his gaze focused on his hands. Dean could see the acceptance in Sam’s posture and knew this wasn’t the first time he had heard those words.  
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered again, when the room was silent for too long, as if he needed to apologize for his very existence.   
“Dean,” his father said, stepping closer. “You know me, you know I wouldn’t hurt you. You know I only hurt what deserves it. Hell,” John said with a small laugh. “You just whipped me with a belt and I’m not retaliating. I can’t lose you Dean, it’s why I kept him around in the first place.”  
Dean shook his head, wiping angrily at the tears that wouldn’t dry up. “He doesn’t deserve it. I don’t care what happened in his nursery. Nothing he’s done deserves this. His back,” Dean choked on his words. “His back is almost black with bruises and that’s before you hit him again today. You locked him in trunk for FOUR days and didn’t even feed him! He is a KID! My brother, my kid.” Dean fisted his hands as his chest jerked as tears of anger streamed down his face. “I didn’t know, I let him get hurt for YEARS!” Dean was screaming at this point, his hands flying as he advanced on his father. “Nothing you can say will change my mind.”  
John nodded, “I know it will take some time to accept. Why don’t you gather your things and we will get going.”  
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Dean crossed his arms.  
“Son--,”  
“Don’t call me that.”  
“Dean,” John sighed. “You’re 13, you have to come with me. Otherwise you’ll end up in foster care.” John glanced back at Sam, he lifted his shirt and tapped the gun at his waist. “Besides, do you honestly think I’m going to let you walk away from me? I’m not letting you go, Dean. You walk away from me and you won’t be with Sam, no matter what.”  
Dean’s defiance drained out of him.   
“Get your things,” John said again. “I’ll meet you in the Impala.” John turned and left the room.  
Dean turned to his brother. “Sammy,” he said softly.  
Sam shook his head and looked up at Dean. His cheeks were streaked with tears and his eyes were filled with sorrow.  
“Sam,” Dean said again, taking his brother by his shoulders. “It’s not true, not any of it, dude. You do not deserve to be hit, you don’t deserve to be locked up.”  
“But Dad,”  
“Is wrong Sammy, I swear to you, he’s wrong. You are my pain in the ass little brother, and nothing else. I would know, I spend way more time with you than anyone else.” Dean smiled, hoping to lighten the mood.  
He was rewarded with a small smile.  
“Man, you must love it when Dad leaves us alone,” Dean realized.  
Sam nodded. “Yeah. Those are the best times.”  
Dean thought back about how each time his father left, he counted the hours until he returned. If he’d known what went on when John was home, he would have made him stay away forever. “Okay, let’s get our things and see what happens now. Not sure what else we can do.”  
Sam nodded again. He moved away from the wall and Dean could see the streaks of blood where Sam’s back had leaned against the wall. “Let’s clean you up.”  
Dean led Sam to the bathroom and then used a wet cloth to clean Sam’s back. “I wish I had the first aid kit,” Dean commented, “Some of these are deep.”  
“It’s okay,” Sam answered.  
“Sure.” Dean rolled his eyes as he patted Sam’s back dry. His brother hissed at the feeling of the towel touching his bruised skin.  
The boys worked together to gather their things and get dressed. Within five minutes they walked out of the hotel room. John stood next to the Impala, talking on his phone. The trunk was opened. Sam stopped abruptly when he saw that, his eyes flying to this father’s. John ended his call and looked at Sam, his eyebrow raised.  
“No,” Sam breathed. But he took a hesitant step towards the car.  
“Let’s go,” John said. “Times a-wasting. I’ve got a new hunt in California that we need to get on. Let’s go.”  
Dean scanned the horizon, wondering what would happen if they just took off, now. He glanced at his father and saw John’s gun poking out of his jeans waistband. They wouldn’t make it two feet. Dean sighed, tossed his duffel in the trunk and headed towards the backseat door. “Come on, Sammy, you first,” he said. He glanced back and frowned when he didn’t see his little brother. He looked up and saw Sam silently crawling into the trunk, his father’s hand gripping his arm tightly as he lifted him up.  
“NO way!” Dean yelled, his temper snapping. “No way is he riding in the trunk ever again! This is ridiculous!” What was happening? Had he seriously thought his dad was a hero just yesterday and today he was shoving his little brother in the trunk in front of his eyes? He had thought knowing would protect Sam, but he realized it didn’t. Not at all.  
“Dean, it’s fine. This way we can really talk, without him shooting those damn puppy eyes at you.”  
“No way,” Dean repeated. “I’m not going to let you.” Dean flexed his fists, wanting so badly to slam them into his father’s face.  
Sam knelt, frozen in the trunk as John approached Dean.   
“It’s really not up to you,” John said, his voice disturbingly soft. “I know he’s got you fooled, but you’ve just got to trust me.”  
“No,” Dean shook his head over and over again. He glanced at Sam. “Fine, you want him to ride in the trunk? Then we both will. He went around to the trunk and started to climb in.  
“Dean!” Sam whispered, horrified. His big brother could not ride in the trunk. Dean did not deserve that.   
“Son,” John sighed, following Dean. “I’m not going to have you ride in the trunk, that’s ridiculous.”  
“But my nine year old brother can?” Dean dared. “That makes zero sense, Dad.”  
John turned around and yanked Sam down out of the trunk. Sam’s legs got caught on the lip of the trunk and he landed hard on his back. John glared down at him. “This is exactly why I didn’t want him to know.” He turned and walked to the driver’s door. “Get in the damn car.”  
“Don’t actually want me protecting him,” Dean snapped. He leaned down and pulled Sam to his feet. For a second he pressed Sam’s head against his chest. “I got you,” he whispered. “I promise baby brother, I got you.”  
Sam nodded and wiped at his face. “Just don’t let him hurt you,” he whispered. “Please Dean, he can’t hurt you.”  
“He’s not, don’t worry about me Sammy.”  
He led his brother to the backseat and the boys climbed in. Dean pulled Sam against him, letting his brother rest his side against him, trying to take some of the pressure off his poor back.   
The Impala roared to life and John swung out of the parking lot. The inside of the car was tense, with Dean glaring at his father, and John glaring at Sam.  
“I miss my co-captain,” John said after a couple hours of tense silence.   
Dean snorted. “Guess you should have thought of that before you beat the crap out of my kid. The only reason I’m still in this car is because you’re threatening to kill him if I leave.”  
John rolled his eyes. “Being a little dramatic, don’t you think?”  
“No.” Dean looked down at Sam who was still resting quietly against him. It worried Dean how quiet Sam was being. He usually was full of questions, talking so much Dean wished he’d be quiet.  
“Dean,” Sam whispered, tapping on his big brother’s chest. Dean looked down. “I’m really hungry,” he said so quietly Dean could just barely hear him.  
Dean nodded, kicking himself for not thinking of that. “Dad,” Dean said. “We are hungry.”  
John glanced in the rearview mirror. “Did you boys eat breakfast?”  
“No,” Dean said shaking his head. “We had just woken up when you came into our room.”  
John sighed loudly, obviously put out with the need to stop. “I’ll drive thru at the next McDonald’s. What do you want.”  
“Pancakes,” Dean said. “Egg McMuffin, two hash browns and two orange juices.”  
John grunted. “If we annoy you, you could just leave us at a hotel.” For the first time ever Dean wanted to John to leave him behind when he went on a hunt. Just leave us, Dean thought, leave for weeks. I don’t even care if you don’t leave us enough money, just go.  
“Not leaving you,” John said. “Not now, I have to make you see the truth. I’m not going to lose you, Dean.”  
“You already did,” Dean said softly. He felt Sam stiffen in his arms and then he was looking into the saddest, most lost pair of hazel eyes he had ever seen. Sam shook his head.   
“What did you say?”  
“I said you already did. I don’t know how you think I can ever trust you again.”  
“Damn it Dean,” John’s frustration started to come through his voice. “I could have gotten rid of him. Could have killed him when I found out what happened that night in his nursery and told you he died by accident. But I didn’t because I knew you were attached. I kept him around, for you.”  
Dean gaped. His mouth opened and closed several times before he found his words. “Am I supposed to be…grateful? Grateful that you didn’t decide to kill my brother years ago? What the hell Dad—no, I can’t even call you that anymore.”  
Dean could feel tremors shaking through Sam and he hated this.   
John roared in frustration and jerked the car to the side of the rode. He opened his door and then yanked Dean’s door open, pulling his oldest out of the car. Sam was terrified. “Don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him,” he pleaded as he followed Dean out of the car.  
“You are my son!” John yelled into Dean’s face, holding the boy by his shoulders.  
“No I’m not!” Dean yelled back. “You aren’t my father! My father would NEVER hurt his son the way that you’ve hurt Sam. He would NEVER say the words you are saying, let alone in front of Sam where he can hear them!” Dean looked at the older man. “Christo,” he said.  
John shook his head. “I’m not possessed, son.”  
“I AM NOT YOUR SON!” Dean yanked away, reared back and slammed his fist into John’s face. John shoved Dean down and grabbed Sam. He lifted the small boy off his feet, holding him by his shoulders. “Damn you!” he roared into Sam’s face. He shook him hard, Sam’s hair flopping around his forehead. He lifted the child over his head and threw him, with all his strength down the side of the road. Sam cried out as he landed and then slid down the graveled pavement.  
“Sammy!” Dean turned to race to his brother, but was stopped abruptly by John’s hand on his arm.  
“Get in the car,” John hissed.  
“No.” Dean struggled to get out of John’s grip.  
“Get in the damn car.” John pulled him towards the Impala.   
Dean looked back at Sam who had pulled himself up off the road. He was swaying, trembling, and holding his arm. His entire left side was scraped from the side of the road. “Come on, Sammy,” Dean said.  
“I don’t think so,” John said. “Get in the car Dean.” He turned towards Sam. “You stay there. Do not move.”  
“What?” Dean froze, his chest heaving as he fought to get back his breath. “What?” he repeated.  
“For the last time, get in the damn car. We are leaving.” John opened the driver door and took advantage of Dean’s confusion to get the boy closer to the door.  
Dean snapped out of it and fought. “You want to leave him? Are you crazy!”  
John didn’t bother saying anything and just shoved him harder.  
“NO!” Dean screamed. He twisted and turned, trying to avoid the hands that were trying to push him into the car. “You can’t just leave him!”   
“I should have done this a long time ago. Would have saved us a lot of grief.”  
“I doubt it,” Dean cried. He fought harder, knowing that if John managed to get him in the car he would drive away and leave his nine year old brother stranded in the middle of no where.  
John was strong, but Dean was desperate. He could hear Sam’s pleas and the words tore at his gut.   
“Please don’t leave me here. Please, I’ll ride in the trunk, I’ll eat the left over scraps, you can hit me all you want, just please don’t leave me here,” Sam’s terrified voice spurred him on. Dean twisted again and dropped to his knees. He realized he was free and scrambled to his feet.   
He raced to his brother and pulled him in tight. Sam was shaking harder than he’d ever felt a human shake. Dean could feel his heart pounding through his t shirt. Sam’s hands gripped Dean’s shirt, trying to pull himself into his older brother. “Don’t let him leave me here, please, don’t let him leave me,” Sam cries were low, coming from the deepest part of him. His fear was tangible, a true being that Dean could practically see surrounding him.  
“I’m not,” Dean panted. “I’m not.”  
“Dean!” John shouted.  
Dean straightened, but kept Sam tight against him. Sam wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist and held on. It should have looked ridiculous, a thirteen year old holding a nine year old. But Dean was tall for his age and Sam was very small, so it worked.  
Dean backed away. His own fear growing. How was he supposed to do this? What was he supposed to do? He blinked hard, trying to get rid of the tears that threatened to fall.  
He looked hard at his father. John stood in front of him, hands on his waist, eyes flashing. Seconds ticked by as the stand off continued.  
“Why are you doing this?” Dean finally whispered.  
“I’ve been trying to tell you,” John said, his voice quiet, solemn. “He is the reason why Mary was taken from me, from us. I know that, with every fiber of my being. Mary died because of him.”  
“He’s just a little boy.”  
John shook his head. “But he’s not.”  
“I don’t even understand what that means,” Dean said. He wished his dad would stop being so cryptic and speak words that make sense. Nothing his dad had said since Dean had found Sam in the trunk made any sense. He wished Bobby were there to talk his dad down.   
And the suddenly Dean knew how he was going to save his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that Dean is acting in character for you guys. I see him as a 13 year old kid who just found out his dad is a monster, his whole world just exploded. Sam is his to protect, and he will do anything for him, but I still see him as a kid, a tough kid who will fight through any situation, but still a kid who doesn't know what to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My weekend was crazy busy, but I'm back!  
> I'm really nervous about posting this chapter, I hope it's okay.

Sam clung to his brother. His fear roared in his ears. His father was going to leave him here, on the side of the road. He hadn’t seen a building in miles and miles. All he could see was open land in all directions. What would happen to him if his father managed to get Dean in the car and they left him on the side of the road? Sam’s stomach clenched and he fought to breathe. His hands fisted in Dean’s shirt. He felt Dean’s hand on his back, protecting him. He tried to take a deep breath. Dean wouldn’t let his father do this, he wouldn’t. Sam repeated the words over and over again.  
“We could take him to Bobby’s.” Dean’s words managed to poke through the roaring in his ears. “You say you don’t know what he is, maybe Bobby could help figure it out.”  
John sighed deeply. “If we leave him with Bobby would that make you feel better?”  
“Then leaving my kid on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere?” Dean said incredulously. “Yes.”  
His father nodded. “Fine, we will stop by Bobby’s on the way to our next hunt. Bobby can figure it out and then he’ll know what to do with him. At least then you won’t blame me if Bobby puts him down.”  
Sam burrowed his head in Dean’s shoulder. Half of him felt immense relief that he wasn’t going to be left on the side of the road, the other part of him felt heartbroken that his brother was willing to leave him with Bobby.  
He felt Dean snort and Dean’s softly whispered “sure” against his hair.   
Sam felt his heart rate slow a little at Dean’s soft word.   
“Let’s go,” John said, heading back to the Impala. “We have a long ride ahead of us.”  
The boys climbed back in the car.

Twelve hours later, John pulled into a motel parking lot. Dean looked out the window, exhausted. The drive had been the most tension filled twelve hours he had ever experienced. Sam had not stopped shaking, although the intense vibrating had lessened to smaller trembles as the hours passed. His hand clenched Dean’s, not letting go even once, as if he was scared if he did, John would throw him out of the car instantly. Dean could feel his little brother’s fear in every breath he took. Neither boy had managed to eat, even when John finally stopped and then threw food in the backseat. Dean was seriously starting to worry about Sam’s health. He hadn’t wanted to talk to Sam, to give him reassurance or to really bring attention to his brother. Like Sam, Dean was terrified that his father would change his mind and try to leave Sam on the side of the road again. Dean needed his father just this one more time, to get them to Bobby’s.  
“I’ll be right back,” John said as he got out of the car to check them in.  
“Okay,” Dean said hoarsely. Sam’s hand tightened even more on Dean’s. “I got you,” Dean whispered. “I swear Sammy, I’m not going to let Dad leave you anywhere.”  
“What--,”   
John opened the door before Sam finished and he clamped his mouth shut. “Here’s the key,” he said to Dean. “I’ll be back later. You go anywhere, and I will find you.”  
Dean and Sam got out of the car and grabbed their duffels from the trunk. They went to the room, and set their duffels down. Dean took a deep breath, his first all day.  
“Sam,” Dean said softly. “Kiddo, I’m so sorry.”  
Sam’s eyes filled with tears and he shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry, Dean. I wish you didn’t find out. I wish Dad was still your hero. I wish that I was still in the trunk so you’d be happy. I wish you didn’t loose your mom and dad because of me. Thank you for not letting Dad leave me on the side of the road. Bobby will know what to do with me.”  
“God, Sammy,” Dean grabbed him and pulled him as close as he could. “Sam, I’m glad I know. The thought that you’ve been dealing with this for so long on your own kills me. The words Dad has thrown at you, how much he’s hurt you. Bud, you shouldn’t have to deal with that alone.”  
“Neither should you.”  
“But now we can deal with it together. Sam, listen to me.” He pulled Sam away from his chest and bent down so he was eye to eye with his brother. “I’m not letting Dad leave you alone with Bobby. I don’t know how but I will not leave with him. I’m really hoping I can get a message to Bobby that we need help and he will help us. Right now I'm just using Dad to get us to Bobby's.”  
“But what if Bobby finds a monster in me,” Sam whispered.  
Dean shook his head. “There isn’t one, so he won’t. I don’t know what Dad heard, I don’t know what he is thinking. But I do know that you are one hundred percent human.” Dean sighed. “Right now we need to find somewhere to eat. In five days you’ve eaten a few crackers and a bowl of soup.”  
“I’m not really hungry,” Sam said. “I’m too nervous.”  
“I get it,” Dean replied. “I feel the same way. But you have to eat.”

Later, the boys were watching TV in the motel room. They had found a diner just down the street and both boys had managed to eat a decent meal. Dean was happy to finally get some solid food in Sam. Now, Sam was lying on his stomach, his feet near the pillows. Dean was next to him, lying on his back with his head on his pillow. On the TV, the animated Batman show played.   
Sam swung his feet, gently knocking the headboard.  
“Dude,” Dean said, “You’re making the whole bed shake.”  
Sam giggled and swung his feet harder. Dean smiled broadly at the sound and poked his brother’s toes. As expected, Sam squealed as his ticklish feet were touched. “Dean, don’t,” Sam laughed.  
Suddenly, the door opened, and Sam scrambled back, limbs flailing as he reversed his position. John glared at him and Sam cringed back into the pillows. Dean scooted forward until he was between his brother and John.   
John rolled his eyes. “Go to sleep,” he grumbled at them. “We are getting an early start tomorrow.” With that he pealed off his clothes and tucked himself into bed. He shut down the TV and turned off the light. The small room was plunged into darkness and then the boys could hear his breathing even out. Without a word they pulled down their own covers and lay down.  
“Relax,” Dean breathed, running a hand of Sam’s shaking shoulders. “Relax, Sammy. Try to get some sleep.”  
Sam said something, but it was too soft for Dean to hear. “What?” Dean asked softly, moving closer to Sam.  
“What if he makes you leave while I’m sleeping?” Sam asked, slightly louder this time.  
“He won’t, no way,” Dean answered. “There’s no way he’d get me out without waking up with you. And I’d fight so hard. I’m not leaving you Sam."   
Dean lightly ran his hand up and down Sam’s back, trying to get him to relax and sleep. But Sam’s mind was going a million miles a minute and he couldn’t calm down. His life, for the past two years, had been highly unpredictable, but at least he knew that no matter what happened, his brother would be safe. And he also knew that no matter what, John didn’t want to hurt Dean so he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make Sam disappear. But now Dean knew and Sam felt like his safety net had gone away. John felt more at ease now, he didn’t have to put on a show in front of Dean. Sam didn’t know what that meant. He felt like everything could change in the snap of John’s fingers. Sam didn’t know if that change would leave him dead, abandoned by the side of the road or something worse he couldn’t even think of. And what if John went after Dean because his big brother wouldn’t back down? What if John hurt him?  
“Sammy,” Dean whispered his name and Sam realized he was crying again and had started whimpering softly. “Kiddo, you’re safe right now.” He felt Dean’s strong arms come around him, pulling Sam tight against him.  
“I’m so scared,” Sam admitted.  
“I know, I get it,” Dean whispered against Sam’s ear. “I really thought that me knowing would slow Dad down.” Sam nodded his agreement. “But it feels like it’s made it worse.”  
Sam nodded again.  
“We have to get to Bobby’s,” Dean continued to whisper. “Bobby will help.” Dean was betting everything he had on that fact. Staying with John went against everything in Dean, but it was the only way.  
Sam nodded again and then tucked his head against Dean’s chest. Dean pulled the covers up and over them, trying to make a cocoon of safety for his little brother. He went back to running his hand up and down Sam’s back, repeating all the comforting words he could think of until at long last he felt Sam’s breathing even out and knew his brother had fallen asleep. Soon after, Dean followed him into sleep.  
It felt like only minutes had passed when the covers were yanked off the sleeping boys.  
“Get up,” John said. “Sam get in the shower, I want to talk to Dean.”  
Sam shot up and looked at his father. He felt his heart begin to pound and he froze.   
“I said, get in the shower!” John grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him off the bed and towards to the bathroom. Sam tripped over his own feet as he tried to keep up.   
“Don’t leave me,” he cried. “Please don’t leave me here.”  
John ignored his cries and threw him in on the bathroom floor. “You have ten minutes to shower.” The bathroom door slammed shut.  
Sam stood up, his chest jerking. He hurried to the shower, praying with everything he had that if John heard the shower and knew that Sam was following his directions that he wouldn’t leave him. Sam’s hands were shaking so bad, he could barely get the water going.

Dean heard the shower go on as he climbed out of bed. “I’m not leaving him,” he said cautiously. “I won’t leave him alone in the world.”  
John nodded. “I figured that out yesterday. We’ll drop him off at Bobby’s, just like I said. Then it’ll just be you and me. I promise you Dean, it’ll be a good thing. I think you’ll enjoy not having him tie you down. Plus, I think you are old enough to join me on all my hunts now. We can be partners, a team. You just wait.”  
Dean’s hands fisted as his father listed all his greatest wishes. Ever since he had turned thirteen, Dean had bugged John to let him come on hunts more often, to not leave him alone. And now John was promising him just that. Dean shook his head. “I’d rather have my brother,” he said. “I’d rather have my family, together. And have Sam safe with us.”  
“Dean,” John sighed. “I really hope Bobby will make you see reason.”  
“I’m hoping the same,” Dean responded.  
“Pack up. When Sam gets done, you can jump in the shower. Then while I get dressed, you boys can load up the car. We are going to make a stop on the way out. It’s been too long since you boys trained.”  
To Dean’s ears, his father’s voice sounded rather ominous and he felt his guard go up immediately.   
Just then, Sam walked out of the bathroom, his wet hair sticking up all over his head. He wore his jeans and under shirt and Dean could see the bruises tracking up both his arms. The side of his face was scrapped from his slide across pavement the previous day. He looked impossibly small and young.  
“Your turn, Dean,” John said.  
Dean hesitated. “Dean,” John said, “Don’t test me.”  
Dean decided his best course of action was to hurry, as fast as humanly possibly. “You hurt him, you lay one hand on him while I’m in the shower, put another bruise on him and I will make you pay.”  
“You threatening me, son?” John said with a mocking smile.  
“Yes. I am.”  
John rolled his eyes. “I won’t touch him. As long as you stop fighting me and get in the shower now.”  
Dean glanced at Sam, nodded and then he raced into the shower.  
Sam walked to his duffel and pulled out his flannel shirt and coat. He pulled both on and then started to clean up the room. He tried to ignore his father, who was looming over him. Sam’s fingers trembled as he pulled the sheets up, making sure that they didn’t leave any socks tucked into the bedding. He found one of Dean’s socks and went to put it into Dean’s bag. Because he didn’t want to stop moving, he pulled Dean’s clean jeans and flannel out of his bag. Then he zipped up his bag and moved it closer to Dean’s. Straightening, he looked around, checking to see if anything else was out of place.  
“I can’t wait to be rid of you,” John said from his spot on the bed.  
“I know,” Sam said quietly, nodding. He stopped and looked at his father, as he knew John like.  
“I have to make Dean understand. How do I do that?” John continued and Sam wondered if he was supposed to answer. He didn’t want his brother to view him as a monster.  
“Maybe if you’d stop clinging to him. It’s really quite embarrassing. You are nine years old. You shouldn’t need your brother to fight all your battles for you.”  
“Yes sir,” Sam said, nodding.  
“Tell you what,” John continued. “You work harder than you ever have before when we go out to train today and maybe I’ll think about keeping you. Maybe. Maybe if you make yourself useful.”  
Sam’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Yes sir. I will sir,” he said, his heart beating faster at the idea. Dean’s family would stay together just like Dean wanted. “I will, sir,” he repeated.  
John smirked. “Good.”

“Okay boys, here we are.”  
Dean looked around the old football field. In the distance he could see the high school, but since it was 6:00am on Sunday, no one was around. Dean rubbed his hands together and watched his breath plume out in front of him. Next to him, Sam shuffled his feet.  
“We will start with a run. You run until I say stop, got it?”  
“Yes sir,” said both boys.   
“Dean, you start now, I will time you. GO.”   
Dean took off, not sure why his dad was timing him. But he ran hard just in case this was a test. He stopped back in front of his father. John looked at his watch. “1:45, not bad. That’s your pace boys. Go.”  
Shit, Dean thought. He knew it had been a trick. He turned and knew Sam would keep up. Poor kid had better stamina than any kid his own age and was in better shape than most grown men. But Dean also knew that Sam hadn’t been eating right the past almost week.   
“I got this, Dean,” Sam said smiling over at his brother. “I can do this.”  
Dean shook his head and smiled. “I know kiddo, let’s kick some butt.”  
The boys ran, lap after lap, maintaining the one minute forty five second pace Dean had set. They fell into a rhythm, the pounding of their feet matched and they breathed in and out together, their breaths showing in the icy air. Dean emptied his mind of everything except his body lengthening out and the feel of his muscles moving. Next to him, he knew his brother did the same.  
It wasn’t until lap thirty-five that Dean started to feel his legs burn. Next to him, he heard Sam’s breathing becoming more labored.   
“Think…he’ll…let…us…stop…soon?” Sam asked between inhales.  
“Dunno Sammy…you’re doing…great.”  
Sam nodded and Dean saw him focus in.  
Ten more laps and Dean wanted to call it. They had been running for almost an hour and a half and over 11 miles. His chest was starting to hurt and his legs were almost numb. He glanced at his father, who stood with his arms crossed, glaring at him. No, not him. His kid brother. Dean glanced over and saw Sam was keeping up, but barely. “Relax…kiddo,” he said.  
Sam nodded.  
Five more laps and Dean was feeling it. He truly didn’t know how Sam was still running with him. Dean’s body was screaming at him to stop.  
“De….an…” Dean glanced down.  
“Yeah?”  
“Hu..rts…”  
“I know…Sammy…he’ll let…us stop…soon.”  
Sam gulped at air, trying to drag it in to his exhausted lungs.   
Three more laps and Sam’s body had enough. He collapsed to his knees next to Dean. “Sam!” Dean fell to his knees next to his brother. “Hey, hey,” he wiped at Sam’s sweat soaked hair. “Come on, buddy.”  
Sam threw up, his stomach heaving.  
“You’re okay,” Dean said soothingly. “You’re okay.”  
Sam heaved again and again. His stomach clenching painfully. Dean rubbed Sam’s back, heart aching for his little brother. Why? What was the point of this?   
“What’s going on?” John yelled as he ran up to the boys.  
Dean glared at John. He had just run Sam to the ground. “He can’t run anymore,” Dean said, still kneeling next to his heaving brother.  
“Yes…I can…” Sam stood up suddenly. “Have…too.” He took three more steps and then fell again.  
“Sammy.”  
“I can!” Sam cried. “I can keep up….I can.” He stood again and tried to run more.   
Dean watched his little brother stagger down the track, determination in every step. Dean stood, his muscles trembling.  
“Dad, please,” Dean implored. “I can’t go any longer.” He took the blame, knowing that it needed to come from him and if Sam begged to stop it would make things worse. He needed to do this for his brother. He needed to get them off this God forsaken track and into the car so they could head to Bobby’s.  
John’s eyebrow rose.  
“Please,” Dean said again. His breathing was returning to normal, but the shaking of his legs was getting worse. He glanced down the track where Sam was still moving forward and his heart swelled with pride for his kid.  
“Fine,” John finally agreed. “Sam, bring it in.”  
Sam turned at his father’s words and started back. Dean could see the tears that had tracked down his cheeks. Sam came to a stop next to Dean and he could feel Sam’s entire body shuddering. Dean clenched his fists as he waited for the next order. He felt so helpless, he was supposed to protect his brother. This wasn’t protecting, Dean almost felt like he was enabling his father. Of course, if John wasn’t threatening to shoot his brother if Dean left, then maybe Dean could act out. Dean sighed and waited to see what came next.  
“I set up a training course for you, over here.” John moved to the end of the football field. Beyond the end zone, Dean could see the equipment and he fought off a groan.   
“Ten pull ups,” John said, pointing. He jumped up on the bar and demonstrated. “Chin all the way up, feet crossed. When you come down, feet do not touch.”  
Neither boys’ feet would be able to touch when they came down, but both boys nodded. Dean watched Sam wipe sweat from his brow with a shaky hand.  
“Then you run over here. Thirty sit ups.” Again John demonstrated. “Then, here thirty push ups.” After the demo he ran to the next stop. A balance beam was set up. The beam was about a foot off the ground. “Twenty jumps over the beam.” John jumped with two feet together over the beam.” Then you repeat. Until I say stop. Any questions.”  
“No sir,” the boys said quietly.  
“Good. Dean start at the balance beam, Sam start at the pull up bar.”  
Both boys nodded and headed to their respective start positions.   
“Ready, set, go!” John yelled.  
Dean watched as Sam climbed up on the step next to the bar. Stretching his body out fully his fingertips just barely touched the bar. He jumped up and managed to grab on with one hand. He pulled the other one up and held on. He let out a pained whimper and Dean imagined the pull on his bruised, welted back was torture. Sam swung himself into position, crossed his ankles and then pulled himself up until his chin was over the bar.  
Dean nodded to himself and then went to work jumping over the beam. The beam came up to his mid shin. He pulled his knees up and jumped. Dean focused in and got it done, trying to ignore his shaky legs. When he was finished he saw Sam still working on his pull ups, so he ran to the push up plank.   
“Dean!” his father barked. Dean startled and turned around to look at his dad. “Pull ups come next.”  
“Of course they do,” Dean muttered under his breath. He went to the bar and saw Sam struggling to pull up. “How many more, kiddo.”  
“Three,” Sam said as he lowered himself down. “Just three. I can do this.”  
“Yes you can,” Dean said encouragingly. He watched as Sam put everything he had into pulling himself up. His arms were shaking, but he got his chin up over the bar. He lowered and then started again.  
“Sam! Hurry up! Dean’s already done.”  
Dean just rolled his eyes. Sam finished the last one and then dropped. He glanced at Dean and smiled slightly. “Good job, bud,” Dean whispered. Sam’s eyes were glittering with tears and despite his brave show he knew Sam was hurting.  
Dean stepped up and grabbed on to the bar. He watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. He did his pull ups slowly, trying to give Sam time to finish his sit-ups. At the next switch, Sam hurried to the next station and Dean saw blood smears on Sam’s t-shirt. The cuts from his dad’s belt had reopened.   
They continued through the cycles. Not once did Sam complain. He did the push ups, the sit-ups. He jumped over the balance beam that came up to his knees, keeping his feet together. He fell six times, but each time he pulled himself up, determination on his tired face. When his father yelled at him for straightening his arms as he lowered down on the pull up bars, he took it and tried harder to keep his elbows bent. Even as Dean watched the blood stains grew. Sam’s face was bright red and he had stopped to throw up twice. Dean was so proud of his kid, he could hardly stand it, even as it made his heart hurt. Dean felt his own stomach revolting from the hard work. His head felt light headed and several times he thought he was going to fall from sheer exhaustion. After six complete rounds, Dean decided it was time to beg again.   
“Dad. Please,” he said as he put his hands on his knees. Sam didn’t stop. He just jumped up onto the pull up bar and began the struggle. “Come on Dad. Please. Enough, we’ve never worked this hard before.”  
John glanced at Dean and then at Sam.  
“Yeah, okay.” John nodded. “Sam, finish those ten and then you’re done.”  
Dean saw Sam nod and he went back to the balance beam. He wasn’t stopping until his brother was done. He was on jump seven when he heard a crash and a sharp cry. Dean jerked around and saw Sam on the ground, clutching at his back.  
“Sammy!” He ran to his brother.   
“Hurts, Dean, hurts,” Sam sobbed. He clenched his hand in Dean’s shirt and tried to roll over. “Hurts!”  
“Where bud? Tell me.”  
“My back,” Sam sobbed. “Fell.”  
“Yeah, okay,” Dean said softly. He helped Sam roll over and stared at Sam’s blood covered shirt. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered. Between the blood and sweat, Sam’s shirt was sopping wet. Dean stared at his kid’s back.   
The welts had broken open and were bleeding freely. Dean ignored that and ran his hands over Sam’s back. His back felt puffy, swollen from the abuse. But he didn’t think anything felt broken. “Okay, you’re okay,” Dean said in a shaky voice. “You just hit all the bruises. It’s okay.” He looked over at his father who stood with his arms crossed. “We’re done,” Dean said and he wished his voice sounded stronger. But his father, this new, intense version of his father, was scaring him worse than any monster they had ever faced.  
“You were at five, Sam.”  
“Yes sir,” Sam nodded and pushed to his feet, whimpering in pain.  
“Sam, we are done,” Dean said, putting a gentle hand on Sam’s arm.  
But Sam shook his head and lifted his foot to step up.   
“Sammy.”  
Sam turned and faced his brother. “I have to finish Dean. I have to.” His voice was shattered.  
“No you don’t Sam, you did more than enough.”  
“But Dad said,” Sam said quietly, glancing at his father. “He said if I could keep up and work harder than ever, I could stay with you guys.” Sam looked at his brother, eyes shiny from pain and exhaustion, but beneath that, Dean saw his hope. “Your family would stay together, just like it should be,” Sam continued.   
“That’s not what I want,” Dean said. “What I want is for you to be safe and not hurt.”  
Sam nodded. “I know, I think this will help. I can do the last five. Please. Dean, let me do this.”  
Dean blew out air but nodded. This was important to Sam and Dean wasn’t going to take that away from him.  
Sam squared his small shoulders and climbed back up. He jumped up and grabbed a hold of the bar. His teeth clenched to fight the cries that wanted to escape. This time, Dean stayed with him, ready to catch his little brother in case he fell again.  
Sam pulled up, got his chin over the bar and then lowered, keeping his elbows bent. “Don’t,” Sam grunted as he struggled to pull up again. “Baby. Me.” His chin cleared the bar and he lowered down.  
“I’m not, Sammy,” Dean muttered. He took a small step back. “Just don’t want you to fall.”  
Sam readjusted his hands, and pulled up again.  
“Two more.”  
Sam cranked out the last two and then dropped. Dean caught him before he fell. “I did it,” Sam panted. “I did it.” He walked to his dad. “I did it.”  
John smirked. “Hm.” He looked down at his youngest and the smirk turned to a sneer. “I only said maybe.”  
The hopeful gleam in Sam’s eyes fled and his face fell. Dean felt his stomach drop. “What?” Sam whispered. “But, you said--,”  
“Maybe,” John said. “You’re the one who assumed I’d change my mind. But who knows, maybe I will.”  
Dean shook his head, anger flooding through him at his father’s cruelty. “You won’t, you bastard,” he spat out. “You’ll make him think he’s got a chance, work him into the ground and then pull it away.”  
“Maybe,” John said. He laughed and turned away. “Let’s go boys, we’ve used up enough time.”  
Sam looked like he was going to burst into tears. “Sammy,” Dean whispered.  
“I tried, Dean,” he sighed. “I wanted to do it for you.”  
Dean swallowed hard. “I know. I’m so proud of you.”  
Sam snorted and then started towards the car, his gait slow and painful looking. Dean followed, grimacing at the pain he felt in his own body. The boys reached the car and climbed in slowly. As soon as the door was closed, John took off and the Impala roared down the road.   
Dean glared at his father, feeling hatred towards him from the very depth of his being. Any lingering hope Dean felt that his father would change, that somehow his family would stay together withered up to nothing. Dean didn’t care if he never saw his father again, in fact he hoped for it. He wanted his father to get them to Bobby’s and then he never wanted to see him again.


	7. Chapter 7

Hours later, the Impala stopped and Sam opened his eyes. He groaned as he moved, shifting off his older brother’s chest.  
He saw Dean open his eyes and both boys moved gingerly to sit up. The intense workout followed by a full day in the car had them both very stiff. In front of him he saw Bobby’s old house, all around him the old cars that Bobby collected and worked on. He glanced at Dean smiled. We made it, his eyes said.  
“We are here,” John said from the front. “I’m going to talk to Bobby. Sam, you come with me. Dean, stay here. We are going to leave as soon as I’ve explained the situation to Bobby.  
John grabbed Sam’s arm and he cried out as pain flooded through him when John lifted him up and over the bench seat. “Stop,” he gasped. “Please.”   
His father didn’t listen as he hauled Sam out of the car. He threw the child on the ground and Sam scrambled to his feet. “Let’s go,” John said, pushing Sam in front of him.  
Sam hurried forward, not even able to look back. Tears filled his eyes and he wondered if he’d be able to say good-bye to his big brother. Dean had sworn he wasn’t going to leave Sam, but Sam didn’t really understand how that was possible. John put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, directing him toward Bobby’s front door. Sam could see Bobby as he opened the door.  
Bobby’s smile of greeting faded to a frown as he took in the scene in front of him. John Winchester was holding his youngest son’s shoulder in a tight grip, the young boy nearly running to keep up with his father. The boy’s face was all scrapped up and even in the dark, Bobby could see the tears glittering on his face. “He hurt?” Bobby asked as he came outside.  
John shook his head. “Inside and I’ll explain.”  
Bobby nodded and led the two into the house. He glanced back and saw Dean quietly getting out of the car.  
“John, what’s going?” he asked as soon as they were in his living room. He watched, disbelieving as John shoved Sam to his knees and told him to stay, as if he was a dog and not a young child. Even worse was that Sam stayed, holding himself still, his hands resting lightly on his knees. It had been two years since Bobby had seen the Winchesters, and Sam had run circles around his family back then, his constant questions driving every one mad. The change was startling.  
John sat heavily on the chair, then leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. The man looked exhausted, and Bobby saw a strange gleam in his eyes, one that wasn’t quite sane. Bobby wondered if his entryway protections had missed something. “Beer?” he asked gruffly.   
John nodded. “It’s been a hell of a day.”  
Bobby went to the kitchen to get two beers. Quickly he opened one and put a few drops of holy water into the bottle. Then he opened the other bottle and returned John. He watched carefully as John took a deep pull from the bottle. And frowned when nothing happened. He glanced down and saw that John’s other hand rested softly on iron frame of the chair.   
“What’s going on, John?” Bobby finally asked.   
He sighed deeply. “Two years ago, I ran into a demon,” he began.  
Bobby saw Sam lower his head, but not before the tears glittering in his eyes began to fall.  
“Okay,” Bobby said as he also sat down. “A demon, huh. Those are rare.”  
John nodded. “This one, he knew things. Before I exorcised him, he told me things.”  
“Demons lie.”  
“No,” John shook his head. “Not about this. He said he knew the demon that killed my Mary. At the time, I didn’t even know it was a demon. But he said it was a yellow-eyed demon. More powerful than your average crossroads demon. And this demon was trying to build an army, with special kids.” John looked down at the top of Sam’s head and Bobby felt his breath get stuck when he saw the look of true hatred that John directed at the small boy.  
“Demons lie, John.” Bobby repeated.  
“I know that Bobby. I’m not stupid. I researched the information after I exorcised the demon. The information he gave me matched up. Other moms, all burned on their babies nursery ceilings. All the babies were 6 months old. There’s something about those babies, something the demon wants.” John nodded towards Sam. “There’s something evil in him and it drew this yellow-eyed demon to him. I put up with him for Dean’s sake, but I’m done now. I’m not keeping the monster that called to the demon that killed my Mary. You can decide what you want to do with him. Use him for research, put him down, I really don’t care. I just want the evil away. I should have done this two years ago. It’s my fault it’s gotten so far.”  
As John had spoken, Sam’s hands had fisted in his jeans, the hold getting tighter and tighter.  
“He’s your son,” Bobby said, carefully. The gleam in John’s eyes seemed to get brighter. “He’s your Sam, your youngest son. A part of your Mary. You can’t be serious right now.”  
“I am. I am very serious. I understand what you’re saying, but he’s not those things. I’d put him down myself, but I don’t think Dean would understand.”  
“Damn right.”  
The two men startled and looked up to see Dean standing in the doorway.  
John sighed, “Dean, I asked you to stay in the car.”  
“Yeah right,” Dean said. “There’s no way.” He stepped into the room and moved towards Sam.  
“Okay,” John said, “We are done here. Bobby, take care of it. Dean, let’s go.”  
“No,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”  
“Dean, you have no choice in this matter. I am your father and I said, let’s go.”  
Dean shook his head. He brought his fist back and it collided with John’s face with as much power as Dean had. John caught his balance and looked at Dean. “Dammit Dean, what the hell is wrong with you?”  
“With me?” Dean shouted as he raised his fist again. “What’s wrong with me? I’m not the beating on a nine year old child.” Dean punched John again and then again. It felt so good to finally smash his fists into his father’s face. All the anger he felt crashed into John. “You bastard!” Dean screamed. “Do you know what you’ve done?” John managed to catch his balance and he grabbed Dean’s arm.  
“Boy, you stop right now. Stop defending that monster.” John shook Dean’s arm. “He’s a monster that killed your mother! Why don’t you understand that?”  
He lifted his hand and reared back.  
“No!” Sam screamed. He leapt at his father and twisted his arm back with every ounce of strength he had. “You will not hurt Dean!” he screamed.  
John turned to get Sam off and Dean took the opportunity to punch him again. And again. John went down to his knees as Dean’s punches rained down on him. Sam kept twisting his arm, back, pushing with all his weight. John howled as his elbow snapped.  
His boys were small, but he had trained them to be fighters. And right now, they were fighting for their lives. Dean’s punches rocked him as they slammed into his face. He tried to lift his unbroken arm, but Sam was on it immediately, kneeling on his hand. The bones of Sam’s knee dug into his hand and John grunted. “Get off, enough. Stop.” he said. His vision was wavering.  
“Like you stopped?” Dean asked as he slammed his fist into his father’s bloody face. “How many times did Sammy ask you to stop? How many times to you keep beating him after he was bloody? Huh? Huh?”   
John fell, like a great tree going down. He landed with a crash, unmoving, unconscious.   
Dean stood, looking at his father, panting to catch his breath. “You won’t hurt him again,” he said, his voice hoarse from shouting. “Do you hear me, you son of bitch. Never again.” He kicked at the unconscious man. Then he turned and gathered his baby brother in his arms. “Never again Sammy. He will never lay a hand on you again.”  
“Dean.” Bobby’s voice was soft.   
But Dean whirled, placing Sam behind, his fists raised. “Do you believe him?” Dean demanded. “Do you? I won’t let you hurt Sam either.”  
But Bobby shook his head. “I don’t believe him, Dean. I won’t lay a hand on Sam, I promise.“  
“You have to help us, then. Please, I don’t know what to do. Dad’s gone insane.”   
Just then John groaned and picked his head up.   
Dean backed up, keeping Sam behind him.  
“Damn,” John grunted as he pulled himself to standing. “Guess you boys listened during all my training.”  
“Get away from us,” Dean said. He raised his fists again. He felt Sam’s hands grip his shirt.  
“Dean, come on. This is ridiculous. Let’s go.”  
“No. How many times to do I have to say it? I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here with Bobby. Your threats don’t matter anymore.”  
John pulled out his gun. “Oh yeah?” He aimed it straight at his boys. “I won’t loose you Dean.”   
“Enough!” Bobby stepped forward and stood in front of the two scared boys. “What the hell is wrong with you, John Winchester? Even if that demon was telling the truth, how the hell do you explain Sammy being a monster? It makes no sense. He came from you and Mary, no way he’d be anything but little Sammy Winchester.”  
But John shook his head. “That yellow eyed monster killed my Mary because of him. Dean,” he all but growled. “Let’s go.”  
“No one is leaving but you, John. Get out of here.” Bobby reached pulled his rifle out from its hiding spot and pointed it straight at the hunter. “I’ll take care of Sam, and Dean can stay here as long as he likes. But you need to get out.”  
“Dean--,”  
“Now.” Bobby’s voice was calm but steel. He stepped forward, bringing gun closer. “Get. Out.”  
“Dad,” Dean said, his voice shaking. “Why don’t you just go do the hunt in California? Please, just leave us here.”  
John stared at Dean. He tried to take a step forward but was stopped by Bobby’s gun. “Okay,” he whispered after a long minute. “I’ll leave. But I’ll be back, I’m not giving up on you Dean.”  
Dean didn’t say anything, just watched as his father turned around and walked out the door. No one moved as the Impala turned on and then started down the driveway. Only when the car was out of sight, did Bobby turn around. “What the hell is going on?”  
“I’m so sorry,” Sam whispered. “It’s all my fault.”  
“Sam-,”  
“Boy, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare believe John’s crazy talk. There’s nothing wrong with you. First off, you walked through my front door and into my living room. Most monsters wouldn’t be able to do that.” He pointed at the salt line and at the doormat. “Made of iron,” he added. Then he held out a flask and dumped some of the water on Sam’s arm. “Holy water. You’re not even fazed.”  
“But--,”  
“Demons lie Sam. Some demon found John’s weak spot and used it. Your father’s grief and revenge for Mary has driven him for so long, he’s become completely blinded by it.”  
Dean snorted. “So he just believed that Sam was to blame and has been beating him for two years? Still doesn’t seem like the father I thought I knew.” Dean put his arm around Sam. “Will you help us? We can’t run away because I don’t want to risk getting put into the child protective system. We’d be separated for sure.”  
“Yeah, obviously,” Bobby said. “Sam? Can I check you out?”  
Sam flinched, but nodded. He looked up at Bobby. “Will the tests hurt?” he asked quietly. “Cuz if they do, could maybe Dean stay?”  
“He’s not going to hurt you, Sammy. No one is going to hurt you anymore,” Dean said. He put his hands on Sam’s shoulders.  
“But he has to make sure Dean, he has to make sure. Check me out so I don’t hurt anyone.”  
“That’s not what I meant Sam, I want to look at your injuries, help ease some of the pain you are feeling.”  
Sam’s eyes widened. “But what about what Dad said? He wants you to find out what’s wrong with me. What about if he comes back? He will be mad if I’m still here.”  
Bobby shook his head sadly. “John Winchester won’t put his hands on you again. He is wrong.”  
Dean felt so helpless. It absolutely broke him that Sam believed John’s words. His father had hurt his kid in so many ways. The scars went so deep. “Sammy, can I take your shirt off?” Dean asked. “So Bobby and I can help your back.”  
Sam nodded and helped Dean take off his shirt. He whimpered as he raised his sore arms and cried softly as his shirt slid up his back. “Hurts,” he whispered.  
“Yeah,” Dean said thickly as the full damage came into view. The bruises on Sam’s arms were darker and Dean could clearly see where John had grabbed him earlier.   
“Damn boy,” Bobby said, swallowing hard.  
Sam lowered his eyes, twisting his fingers in front of him. It felt so wrong to have evidence of his badness on display. “Dean,” his voice was low. “Dean, but if there’s nothing bad in me, why would the demon have been in my room?”  
“I don’t know, Sammy. But you have to trust me.” Dean looked at his bruised and battered brother and felt tears pricking his eyes. How could he make Sam see that he was nothing but good? For two years, Sam had been abused by the father he loved, made to feel worthless and evil. Evidence of that littered Sam’s small body. Each bruise, each welt driven into his body, a reminder of what he was in the eyes of his father. “Come on, Sammy,” Dean said quietly, leading his brother to the couch.

Several hours later, Dean sat with Bobby in the kitchen. Sam was sleeping on the couch, his back littered with poultices made to pull away the swelling and pain. Through Bobby’s inspection, he’d found swelling around Sam’s left wrist and had determined it to be just a bad sprain. Dean figured it happened when John threw Sam down on the road the day before. When Dean realized that Sam had done all those pull-ups and push-ups on it and he’d nearly lost it.  
Dean looked at the sandwich Bobby set in front of him, but he didn’t pick it up. “He locked him in the trunk,” Dean said instead, his voice hoarse. “For four days. I didn’t even know. Just went on my merry way. Eating cheeseburgers and thinking my dad was the greatest. And Sam was in the trunk. The hunt we went on, it lasted for hours.” Dean swallowed thickly. “It was warm that day. I remember because I took off my jacket and flannel. And Sam was in the trunk.” Dean fisted his hands and when he looked up, tears glinted in his eyes. “I didn’t know, Bobby. I didn’t, I swear. But it lasted for two years. How did I not even suspect. Dad beat him everyday when he was home. His back is purple and black. He has a sprained arm, rope burns on his wrists from where Dad tied him up. How did I not know? He’s the most important person in my life. And I didn’t protect him.”  
“Dean,” Bobby said gruffly as he sat down next to him. “He’s scared of John, right?”  
“Obviously,” Dean nearly rolled his eyes, would have if he wasn’t feeling so incredibly guilty.  
“I’m sure he threatened Sam to not tell you.”  
“Yeah.” Dean tapped his hands on the table. “Told my kid brother that if he told me, Dad would kill me.”  
“Damn,” Bobby said, shaking his head. “That would do it, don’t you think? That kid loves you, looks up to you. He may be the most important person in your life, but you’re the most important thing in his. Not only was he protecting you from the immediate threat of your dad’s gun, but he was also trying to keep your dad, your dad, for you. He didn’t want to take that away.”  
“I know. I get that, I do. I just feel like I should have known. I mean, I could tell that he was a little afraid of Dad, but I guess I just figured that was because of Dad being a hunter and all. I mean, he’s a little rough around the edges. Er, I mean I used to thing that.” Dean shook his head and closed his eyes.   
“Dean,” Bobby said quietly. He had cared for this boy for a long time, it hurt to see him in so much pain.  
Dean took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “After I found out the truth, he came out in short sleeves and I realized just how long it had been since I’d seen the kid’s arms.”  
“How’d you find out?” Bobby asked, leaning back.  
“Accident,” Dean said, picking at his sandwich. “I went to get the duffle bags out of the trunk. There was a blanket and I thought we might need it. Dad was on an old cabin kick, so I thought he might want it. Those old cabins are freezing at night. Plus they don’t have phones. Don’t know why—oh. God I’m stupid.” Dean lowered his head to his hands.  
“What?”  
“No phones, meant I couldn’t call Sam. Dad told me he had dropped him off with you because he was sick. That’s why I thought Sam wasn’t with us. I didn’t like it, but I figured Dad knew best. I couldn’t call to check in because none of the cabins had phones. See what I mean? I should have known something was off.”  
“Sounds like you’re just a kid who trusts his father.”  
Dean snorted. “Dumb, like I said.”  
Bobby sighed. “Not dumb. I take it Sam was under that old blanket.”  
“What? Yeah. Exactly. I lifted that blanket up and there was my little brother, crammed in against the backseat. Dad hadn’t even let him be in the bigger area of the trunk, instead made him lie were the trunk goes in over the wheels. Poor kid could barely move. I didn’t understand. It was like my brain completely shut down. Dad dragged me inside, locked me in the bathroom. I heard a gun shot and panicked so hard that I broke down the door. By the time I got outside, he had Sam on his knees, a gun pointed at his head.”  
“What was the first shot?”  
Dean tensed. “Dad did that to make Sam think he had killed me. Made the poor kid think he’d gotten me killed before he pulled the trigger at him. Bastard.”  
Dean picked at his sandwich. “I just, I feel so helpless. I don’t know how to help him. Like, I know I should run away. I know I should take him as far away from Dad as I possibly can. But I don’t know how.”  
“You’re only thirteen, Dean,” Bobby said quietly.  
“It doesn’t matter!” Dean cried. “I should be able to take care of my brother. He’s only nine and he’s lived with this secret for two years. Seven,” Dean shook his head. “He was seven when it started.”  
“Dean, listen to me. You listening?”  
Dean nodded.  
“Sam didn’t want you to know so he did the best he could to hide it from you. He was protecting you the only way he could. He had that awful threat from his father hanging over his head. And I’m willing to bet it gave him some degree of peace knowing you were happy.”  
“It’s not his job—,”  
“Yeah, yeah. Older brother. Your job. I get it. Trust me. But try to see it from Sam’s point of view.”  
Dean sighed and nodded. “Now what?” he asked.  
“You stay here. You both heal. You help Sam see who he really is. You fight monsters, right?”  
“Uh, yeah.”  
“John was Sam’s physical monster. You fought him already. John’s words are Sam’s emotional monster. You have to fight those. Help him banish them to a place where they can’t hurt Sam anymore.”  
Dean nodded slowly. “I can do that.”  
“I know you can.”  
Bobby watched as Dean picked up his sandwich and took a small bite. And I’ll fight your monsters, he thought. You show Sam that none of this was his fault and I’ll show you that none of this was your fault, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question: This is all I have written as of now. Do you guys want it to end here or do you want a few more chapters of Dean and Sam recovering?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I LOVE the reviews!!!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I had to write it from scratch. Updates won't happen quite as fast, but I still will try to update as often as possible. I'm going out of town this weekend, so I might not update until next week. But who knows, I'm lost in this story and can't get it out of my head until I write it down.

“Bobby?” Dean walked into the kitchen. The morning sun streamed into the room and Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept until the sun was up. It felt good. But he’d woken up to an empty room. “Do you know where Sammy is?”  
“He went outside.” Bobby shrugged. “I offered him breakfast but he wasn’t interested.”  
Dean felt the warm glow sleep had given him fade away. “Yeah, okay. Thanks. I’ll go find him.”  
“Let me know if you need anything.”  
Dean nodded then headed outside. The weather was changing and the morning air was crisp. Dean walked around the car yard, peeking inside cars as he went. He finally found his brother sitting on the hood of a ’66 mustang.  
“Hey Sammy,” Dean said quietly as he jumped up on the hood.  
“Hi Dean,” Sam said.  
“What are you doing out here all alone? It’s kind of cold.”  
Sam shrugged. “I couldn’t go back to sleep, didn’t want to bug you.”  
“You wouldn’t have.”  
Sam shrugged again. He turned and stared off at the horizon.  
Dean watched his brother for a couple minutes, the silence growing larger.  
“What’s going on in that big brain of yours,” Dean asked gently when the silence grew to be too much.  
Sam shook his head. “Nothing.” But he pulled his legs up and held his knees against his chest.  
“Sam. You have to talk to me. Keeping stuff in will tear you a part.”  
Sam was quiet again for so long Dean started thinking he wasn’t going to talk. Sam turned his head away from Dean. “It’s just…,”  
“Yeah?” Dean said when Sam’s voice tampered off.  
“Bobby said he couldn’t find a monster in me,” Sam finally said.  
“Yeah, that’s right.” Dean nodded emphatically. “Just like I told you, you are 100% Sam Winchester, my pain in the ass little brother,” Dean said, hoping to make his brother smile.  
But instead a tear slid down his cheek. “I thought I was a monster, evil.” Sam finally turned toward to face Dean. “But if I’m not…I just don’t understand.” He dropped his knees and looked down at his hands. “I mean, why would the demon tell Dad that? And why did Dad believe it is it wasn’t true? Why didn’t…,” Sam stopped and wiped at his eyes.  
“Why what, Sammy?” Dean whispered.  
“Why didn’t Dad do what Bobby did? Make me drink holy water, or touch me with iron, or cut my hand or something. He didn’t do anything. He just believed a demon. I just…,” Sam squeezed his hands together. “He hit me so hard. All the time. And Bobby says I'm not a monster.”  
Dean’s heart clenched painfully at Sam’s words. “Sammy,” he started, praying he said the right thing. “Dad was broken when Mom died. He didn’t laugh anymore, hardly smiled. At first, all he could think about was finding out why and how she died. And once he learned about the supernatural, he attacked it with no thought to anything else. He needed something to blame.”  
“Me,” Sam said quietly.  
Dean felt sick. “Yeah, Sammy, I think so.”  
Sam nodded. “That’s what I was thinking too.” He slid off the car and started to walk back to the house.  
“Sam, hey.” Dean jumped off the car and ran to catch up.  
“I just want to be alone,” Sam said.  
“Sam, come on dude, please don’t shut me out.”  
“I’m not, Dean I just…I don’t know what to think, what to do.” Sam turned and paced back to Dean. “I mean, Dad’s a hunter. He finds a monster, finds something evil and he kills it. A monster he finds tells him I’m a monster. So he believes it. Researches the story, but doesn't take the time to look at me.  
Doesn’t try to find out that maybe that monster was wrong about me. Instead, he starts hitting me. All. The. Time. He locks me in closets, in the trunk of the car. Threatens to kill you if I do anything out of line. Tells me I’m a monster and don’t deserve anything else. That I’m lucky he doesn’t just shoot me and get it over with.” Sam was pacing in front of Dean, his voice breaking every few words as he shouted the words. “But he never checked. He never once checked to see if maybe the demon was wrong. He wanted to hit me. He wanted to Dean. He h-hates m-me. And I d-don’t know why. W-why? Dean? Why?”  
Dean grabbed Sam to stop his frantic pacing. He held him tight against him, even when Sam tried to fight against him.  
“I’m so s-sorry. I'm so sorry for everything, Dean,” Sam cried, pushing against Dean. “Why do you even like me?”  
Dean wrapped his arms around Sam tighter. “Because you’re my little brother,” Dean said right next to his ear. “Because you went through hell. And even while you were being hit every damn day, you stayed smart and funny and kind. And brave. So damn brave, Sammy. You stayed whole when it would have been so easy to break.”  
Sam stopped fighting, resting now against Dean’s chest. Dean could feel his tears soaking through his shirt. He didn’t let go, just held his brother tighter. “Because when Dad put you in my arms on the night of the fire, you became mine.” The boys stood silently for a minute. Dean loosened his arms, but Sam didn’t move. “Dad is the monster. He’s the one that’s broken. He’s the one that let this get so out of control.” Dean pulled Sam back and bent down until he was looking straight into Sam’s eyes, his hands holding Sam’s shoulders. “It’s his fault. All of it. None of what happened is on you. He’s the weak one, the one who let the situation change him. Not you.”  
Sam stared at his big brother, as if he was trying to process what Dean had said. “Dean,” he whispered.  
“Yeah Sammy.”  
“Do you really truly believe that? That this was all Dad’s fault.”  
Dean nodded emphatically. “Without a doubt.”  
“Then Dean, you can’t blame yourself either. You just said it’s all Dad’s fault.” Sam touched his brother’s cheek. “I heard you tell Bobby that you think you should have been able to stop it. But you couldn’t.”  
Dean closed his eyes and straightened. “That’s different.”  
“No it’s not.”  
“Yeah. It is. I don’t think it’s my fault that Dad hit you, but I do think it’s my fault that I didn’t protect you from him.”  
He tried to walk away, but Sam grabbed his hand. “Dean.”  
“I don’t want to talk about this.”  
“And I didn’t want to show you my back. But you needed to help me.”  
“Sammy, I’m okay. I promise you. You’re safe now and I am going to keep you that way. Now that I know, I won’t let him hurt you again.”  
Sam looked at his brother dubiously.  
“Promise Sam. It’s cool.”  
Sam didn’t look 100% convinced. But Dean ignored it. “I think I heard Bobby mention breakfast, why don’t you run in and see if he needs any help. I want to take a look in Bobby’s garage real fast.”  
“K, Dean.” Sam moved away, and then looked back Dean. “Jerk.”  
Dean smiled. “Bitch.”  
Dean watched his brother walk back to the stairs and climb them carefully. Even with the poultices, Sam’s back was still hurting him, Dean could tell. He moved up the stairs like an old man. Dean’s hands fisted by his sides and he moved away from the front stoop. But he didn’t make it to the garage. Instead he stood still looking around. Tears glinted in his eyes and then with a roar, he grabbed the nearest debris that lay on the ground and threw it as hard as he could. Gaining momentum, he grabbed another piece of junk and heaved it. The tears came, suddenly and forcefully, spurting out of him as he continued to throw anything he could find.  
“Damn it,” he cried. He slammed a piece of scrap metal into the ground and lifted it to do it again.  
“The ground hurt someone?”  
Dean dropped the metal and spun around. He wiped angrily at the tears. “No,” he said.  
“Wishing it was John?”  
Dean snorted. “What are you doing out here, Bobby?”  
“Sam was worried. Said you seemed upset. I think he was right.”  
“That kid. I swear. I told him I was fine.”  
“He loves you.”  
“You getting soft on me Bobby?” Dean asked. He picked up the piece of metal again and fiddled with it.  
“It’s a tough situation to stay hard in.”  
“Yeah,” Dean said quietly. “Know what he asked me Bobby? Asked me why Dad hated him so much that he didn’t even do any tests to make sure he wasn’t a monster. He’s nine years old and has to deal with that.”  
“Age is just a number, kid. Sam, he’s much older than nine.”  
Dean shook his head. “I know. It kills me. I wanted him to stay innocent. I wanted him to have a childhood, something I never had.”  
“I know you did Dean. You are a great big brother to that kid. More of a parent than either of his own.”  
“Then how come--,”  
“You didn’t see. I know Dean. That’s a tough one for you to get past.”  
Dean threw the metal back on the ground. He looked up at Bobby’s house. “We should get back in there before Sammy gets too worried.  
Bobby rolled his eyes. “Sure kid.”  
They walked back to the house and climbed the steps. Dean went in first and immediately heard the cries. “Sam!”  
Dean ran back to the kitchen. “Hey, hey. Sammy.”  
“I’m sorry,” Sam was crying over and over again. “Didn’t mean to, it slipped out of my hands. I just wanted to help.”  
Dean went to him and tried to stop his jerky movements as Sam tried to wipe up the spilled coffee. In his other hand, Dean saw that Sam held the broken shards of glass for the mug he had dropped.  
“Please!” Sam cried as Dean’s hand came into view. Sam dropped the mug and covered his head. “I’m almost done, I’ll clean it up, please don’t.”  
“Sammy,” Dean whispered, completely horrified. “Kiddo, I’m not going to hurt you.” Dean put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, holding on even when Sam flinched away. “Look at me. Please Sammy, look at me.”  
When Sam continued to cower, Dean grabbed his chin and lifted until Dean could see Sam’s fearful hazel eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Dean whispered again.  
“D-dean?”  
“Yeah, kiddo, it’s me.”  
Sam crawled into Dean’s lap and held on as Dean rocked him back in forth. “I got you,” he whispered against Sam’s hair. “Always. I got you.” Dean saw Bobby back out of the room and leave.  
“Dean,” Sam asked the sobs ebbed and his breathing returned to normal.  
“Hm?”  
“Can we not tell Bobby? Please, I’ll clean it real good, then Bobby won’t know.”  
“Bobby won’t care, kiddo.”  
Sam squirmed out of Dean’s lap and picked up the towel. “We don’t know that for sure. I think it’s best we don’t tell him.” He began swiping at the floor again.  
“He won’t hurt you, Sam.”  
“Don’t know that for sure,” Sam repeated. “Please, Dean.”  
“Yeah,” Dean said quietly. He sighed and looked down. Blood was dripping on the floor. “What the hell?” He looked at Sam’s hand and saw he was still gripping the broken shards of mug tightly in his hand. “Hey, hey.” Dean touched Sam’s hand. “Let go.”  
Sam looked at his hand. “It’s okay, I’ll throw them away. I will when I finish cleaning the spill up. I’m almost done.”  
He started to wipe the floor again.  
“Sam, you’re bleeding,” Dean whispered. “The shards are cutting into your hand.”  
“It’s okay,” Sam said. “I’ll clean it up.” He wiped at the blood that had fallen to the ground.  
Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and felt his anger returning. What had John done to his kid?  
Sam’s eyes flew to Dean’s. “I’m almost done,” he whispered. “Please.”  
“Not going to hurt you,” Dean repeated. How the hell had he not noticed the fear in Sam’s eyes before? “I’ll throw the broken glass away,” he said. He held out his hand.  
“K,” Sam opened his hand and let the blood smeared shards land in Dean’s hand. Dean went to the garbage and threw them away and he took a towel from the counter. As Dean turned back, Sam stood up. “Done,” Sam said, looking relieved. “Finished before Bobby came back.”  
“Yeah,” Dean said trying to smile over the sick he felt in his heart and stomach. “Can I see your hand?”  
Sam nodded and held his hand up. Dean wrapped the towel around and then led Sam to the bathroom so he could look at it. Once there he unwrapped the towel and opened Sam’s palm. A deep gash sliced Sam’s palm and was about an inch long. Dean hissed. “This needed stitches, Sammy.”  
Sam nodded. “K.”  
“Doesn’t it hurt?” Dean asked, feeling off balance with how nonchalant Sam was. He picked up the towel and began cleaning the gash. He found Bobby’s first aid kit under the sink.  
“A little. But getting the mess cleaned up was the most important thing. And we did that.” Sam smiled at Dean. “Bobby won’t get mad.”  
“I really don’t think Bobby would have gotten mad, Sammy,” Dean said gently. He put the towel aside and found the stitching kit in Bobby’s first aid. He put some numbing cream on Sam’s hand, but knew this was still going to hurt.  
“Still, it’s better to be safe. Now for sure he won’t get mad.”  
Dean poked around Sam’s hand. “Can you feel that, bud?”  
Sam shook his head. Dean picked up the threaded needle and started to sew the gash together. “You know I won’t let Bobby hit you, right? He won’t, but even if he tried, I wouldn’t let him.”  
Sam hesitated, then nodded slowly. “But if he got mad and wanted to hit me, and you stopped him, maybe he’d hit you instead. That’s not okay either.”  
Dean really didn’t like this conversation. But at the same time, he got it. Why would Sam trust anyone not to hurt him? Dean figured he should just be relieved that Sam still trusted him.  
Sam let out a small gasp as Dean continued to stitch. “I’m so sorry kiddo.”  
“It’s okay, just stings.”  
“I’m almost done.” Dean knotted off the last stitch. Then he cleaned the cut once more and wrapped Sam’s hand in gauze. “Done,” he said. He cleaned up and then led Sam back out to the kitchen. He felt Sam’s hand hold on to the back of his sweatshirt as they walked into the room. Bobby stood there, stirring some eggs. He looked up as the boys entered the room.  
“You boys okay?”  
“Yep,” Sam said, nodding. “Everything is fine.”  
Bobby glanced at Dean, who also nodded. “We’re good.”  
“Okay, well I have some eggs that are just about done and there’s a pile of toast and bacon on the table. Orange juice is in the fridge. Help yourself.”  
The boys got what they needed and then went to the table to sit. Dean noticed how Sam kept his hand hidden. It was truly amazing how his bandaged hand never once showed, even as Sam put bacon, toast and eggs on his plate and began eating. This was how he did it, Dean thought. This was how I never knew. Watching Sam now, you’d never guess he’d been hurt, that only twenty minutes ago he’d been cowering, terrified in the kitchen. You’d never know that his back was a mess of bruises and welts, that just sitting in the chair on his bottom had to hurt. The fear, the pain, all of it was buried as Sam put on a the facade for Bobby.  
Dean felt his heart break even more.


End file.
